Erotic Diaries Of A Warlock: Book 1 of 3 (I, Justin)
Page 1
I, Justin:
Erotic Diaries of a Warlock
Book 1
Also available separately: Books 2 & 3 and The Complete Cycle, Books 1-3
Book 1. Justin Kairo, unhappy as a boy and young man, cannot find his place in the world until he is able to understand his own powers and realize his destiny as a warlock leading his own coven. Juliet has been his intimate partner many times over many centuries and their deep love for each other leads them to fulfillment and immortality. And unforeseen obstacles.
THEY HATED HIM AND AND CALLED HIM TERRIBLE NAMES DURING HIS EARLY YEARS
The unusual powers, creative abilities and sexual skills of warlock Justin Kairo bring him to the peak of his craft when he becomes High Priest of his own New York City coven, but his path to these heights is filled with anguish and despair.
Heir to a large fortune, shunted aside by his parents and bullied at school, Justin knows from an early age that he is different but doesn’t understand how and why. He is a lonely and isolated young man until a distinguished presence from centuries past reaches out to him.
The charismatic and legendary Merlin, advisor to King Arthur, sends Justin a messenger who helps him begin to recognize his own extraordinary skills and accept his identity as a male witch.
Justin appears to others to be a confident, handsome man with a successful advertising career but inwardly he remains unsure of his own destiny. Driven by forces he can’t entirely comprehend, he is initiated into a coven and devotes himself to learning the ways of the occult. Eventually, Merlin welcomes Justin to the craft and becomes his Patron Saint.
As Justin’s knowledge deepens, he is able to glimpse the future in his crystal ball and interpret the meaning of life through the Tarot. Continuing his studies, his powers grow. He saves lives with the intense application of his mind and rescues the imperiled with the force of his will.
I, Justin:
Erotic Diaries of a Warlock
Book 1
by Justin Kairo
Copyright © 2013 by Justin Kairo. All rights reserved.
Other ebooks in this series
Contents: Book One
Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15
BOOK ONE
Chapter 1
I am a warlock. It is as simple as that. I do not hide that from myself any longer. I do not deny the truth. I admit it openly and freely because I am proud of what I am. I accept it. I have finally learned I have no other choice.
Some things in life are destined, and pain is all that awaits if you try to deny that reality. I know. It took me a long while before I could be open with myself. I travelled through doubt and confusion to reach the point where I am today.
I am a warlock. Some people in the craft do not use that word. Instead they say “male witch.” They are both the same. It makes no difference. But I prefer to call myself a warlock.
I am 27 years old, grew up in New York City and still live there. I am an account executive and work at a well known advertising agency. I cannot tell you the name. Or my own name. I call myself Justin Kairo in these pages because that was my name in another life.
If I told you my real name and where I work I would jeopardize my craft and even my life. I am pledged in blood to secrecy, and a curse will be upon my powers if I reveal too much.
On the surface I live a normal life. I go to work in the morning. I wear a conservative suit and tasteful ties. I attend meetings, go to business lunches with clients and other employees and executives at the agency. I am a member of several advertising associations, play squash and tennis. I’m a hard worker but I also enjoy joking and laughing with my friends and colleagues.
The difference between us is what happens at night. They take work home, go to a bar or the movies or watch television. I spend the evening studying the timeless rituals in order to perfect my craft and I practice looking into the future to improve my ability to see what others cannot.
The spirit of the coven is my bride, and I meet with other witches to practice the sacred ceremonies that are my life and my destiny. During the years I tried to convince myself that I was just like everyone else, I refused to listen to the voice that was calling me. In those days I felt tortured and unhappy.
My life was a fraud as I went through the motions of pretending to be like other people. I deceived myself. I did not know then what I know now. Whatever you are, you must admit that to yourself. Each person has his or her own destiny, his or her own nature and must be true to that inner self the way I am now to mine. Only then will you be fulfilled. Only then.
Right now, in these pages, is the first time anyone who is not in the craft will learn about my life. I have never before admitted my hidden identity to outsiders. I don’t have to tell witches. Not with words. I let them know who I am in other ways. I send out vibrations manifest only to those in the craft. I have other ways to deliver messages that only the chosen can understand.
But today I have arrived at a place and time where I need to let others know about my life. To confess who I am and what I do. To share my secrets—some of my secrets—with non-believers. I feel compelled to talk about my life and my powers and help others understand. And maybe, just maybe, to help me understand myself a little better. The only way to do that without betraying my friends in the craft is in these pages where I can conceal my face and mask my identity.
It is an odd feeling for me and I must get accustomed to it. It is strange knowing that for the first time I can speak openly and let outsiders into my world. I can talk about our coven’s evenings under the moon and the chants and the spells and the friendships with bonds unlike those most people experience. It is unsettling to realize now I can tell you almost all of it and, because I do not let you know who I am, I can do it without being unfaithful to my beliefs.
Chapter 2
A night of the full moon. An estate in the countryside. A white mansion with 39 rooms. 13 times 3 rooms. Secluded and four miles from the main road where nobody visits except those who belong here.
Acres of privacy and signs out front to keep away the strangers. “Beware of Dog.” “No trespassing.” Ordinary looking signs that resemble the ones outside the other grand estates. But these have a spell on them. A curse. Signs we have included in our prayers. Invoked with the power of our craft. Signs that keep people away by their very existence. Not just their words.
Midnight. There is only one light on in the house. It is in the spacious entrance foyer just behind the front door. A special light. Green. The color of fertility. I am standing in front of the door with no illumination on me except the natural light of the moon. I am alone, but know I will not be alone for long.
I am wearing my welcoming cape. It covers my body completely from my neck to my ankles. It is black with a scarlet border and in front, over my chest, is the head of the screaming bull. The symbol of virility and strength. The mouth of the bull is open wide in a scream of pain and pleasure, happiness and grief, knowledge and doubt. For they are all the same. The head of the bull is the color of fire, for that is the color of life.
In a matter of minutes the others will arrive. Not long after the stroke of twelve, another dozen will be here. A total of thirteen in the coven including me. The High Priest. The first to arrive.
Juliet will be the last. This evening she is joining the coven. The initiate. Number 13. Juliet and I: One and Thirteen. Numbers that go well together.
The two of us know each other in unusual ways
. We are familiar. We do things together that other people do not do. Juliet and I are private and I am cautious tonight. She and I do not reveal too much to outsiders, although in most ways our lives are open to the coven. The true outsiders are the ones beyond our Thirteen.
Juliet and I direct our prayers to my patron saint, Merlin. I was born with special powers and Merlin taught me how to use them and, as time went on, blessed me with additional powers as well.
The witches and warlocks of my coven and other covens around the world also pray to Merlin. We dedicate ourselves to each other and to helping the outsiders, too, even though we live in a world of secrets.
• • •
The first car is coming toward the mansion and, because of a curve in the road, I cannot see whose car it is. But I do not have to see. It is Harry Oliver’s car. These are the things I know. Knowledge comes to me in strange and sudden ways. It does not invade my mind through the five ordinary senses. It just arrives. All at once. Out of everywhere and nowhere.
Harry drives up to the house and gets out of his car. He is wearing an undistinguished business suit. Nothing about his appearance sets him apart from the other members of the small suburban community where he lives. Harry, 35 years old, is the president of a local bank. A successful young professional man envied and admired by the others. Nobody knows or suspects the truth about Harry. Not even his wife.
“Blessed be,” I say.
“Blessed be, Justin,” Harry replies.
We shake hands. A special clasp. A sacred grip of our fingers that I cannot describe to you because that is not allowed. There are limits here to how far I am able to transgress.
Harry enters the house. He goes to the dressing room where he takes off his everyday clothing and dons his robe. Completely white. A black hood. In front, the scarlet insignia of the screaming bull. He comes back outside and joins me in welcoming the others.
The Coopers and the Lanzettis are in the next car. Kenny Cooper is a commercial artist and the Lanzettis are both doctors. They are all in their thirties and early forties except for Mrs. Lanzetti who is close to fifty.
“Blessed be,” Harry and I greet them.
“Blessed be.”
They, too, go into the house to change from their street attire into their white robes.
The Orton twins arrive moments later. Two blonde girls not yet twenty who make their living as high fashion models. Gordon and Carrie Bridge are right behind. Carrie, an architect, and Gordon, a contractor, designed and built the 39 room mansion we are using tonight for the coven.
Marcus and Nora Kessler will be in the final car. They are good friends of Juliet’s and are driving her to the coven. Nora and Marcus are both in graduate school and have been students for as long as I can remember.
Images of Juliet’s arrival pushed their way into my thoughts all day long. I have been unable to concentrate on anyone or anything else. I thought about her face and imagined her expression when she first saw the mansion. Smiling. Sombre. Enigmatic.
This is Juliet’s night but mine too. No woman has been more important to me. Except maybe Lanny, although I force myself not to think about Lanny on these occasions.
Juliet will be here soon and I am picturing her again now. Partial views of her face.
Just her mouth. Then only her pale blue eyes.
Another time her long black hair. An image so clear in my mind that I can almost feel its soft silk brush against my cheek.
And then the sounds. I hear her voice. She is saying Justin over and over and over to me. I am the high priest and yet I am under her spell.
Something inside me closes off my senses for a while. I do not see or hear anything. For a minute or two I lose awareness of myself and my surroundings. No conception of who and where I am.
I do not see or hear the Kessler car coming. I am not conscious of its arrival. Then suddenly Juliet is in front of me.
She steps out of the car and I cannot believe how she looks. Not like anything I had imagined all day. Not like anything I expected. I cannot believe what I am seeing.
Chapter 3
Juliet is naked. Her large breasts inches from my face. I stare at the nipples and my tongue longs to touch them. My hands and my mouth want to feel every swelling curve and then move farther down where I can rest my head on the electric wires between her legs.
Seconds after she steps out of the car I realize I am only looking at a memory. Or at a dislocation in time. Juliet tonight is fully clothed. I was seeing her the way she looked on many other evenings with me. The way I prefer to see her.
This is a moment I need to conceal from the eleven others in the coven. Feelings I must hide. Private emotions I can share only with the woman in front of me.
• • •
I am by nature a magician, an illusionist. I make people see something that wasn’t there before. At the ad agency, I meet with clients who are unconvinced about a proposed campaign. I sense they are dissatisfied and negative and thinking of leaving us. I meet with them and quietly, logically, I back up my presentation with focus group and demographic data, explain our vision for their product or service in a way congruent with their own. I win them over, quell their doubts, assuage their fears.
Tonight I am the client and Juliet is working her magic. In my mind I step back and let calm sweep over me. Merlin answers my prayer and turns me back into the High Priest.
“Blessed be,” I say, welcoming her.
“Blessed be, Justin,” Juliet replies.
• • •
We all go inside to the green room and wait until everyone changes out of their street clothes and into their robes. When all twelve of my disciples are gathered in the room and dressed for the ceremony, I disappear into my private dressing room. The time has come for me to discard my welcoming cape and don the black ceremonial robe. While I am gone there is silence. Nobody speaks. And when I return they all look over at me and nod their heads once.
I press a master switch that turns on every light in the house downstairs. We all walk into the large living room that is empty of furniture. In the center of the room is the equipment we will need for the evening. Everyone takes something and we walk in single file through the house to the back door. I am in front. Juliet is immediately behind me. For this moment, Harry Oliver is number 13. As Harry walks out of the house, he presses a switch inside the back door that turns out all the lights inside.
We continue walking in single file for a quarter of a mile through a heavily wooded area until we come to the clearing. The other twelve stand on the perimeter while I enter the clearing and make a nine foot circle with my athame, my sacred knife which has been owned and used by witches for 479 years. Then I hold up my right hand to bless and purify the circle.
“Blessed be the circle,” says Harry Oliver.
“We are gathered here to pay homage,” Marcus Kessler says.
“We are gathered here,” we all say in unison, speaking as one.
I see Juliet’s fingers tremble. Her hands are at her side and her fingers are shaking. Jittery against her leg. She knows this is her night.
“Hail to Merlin,” I say.
“Hail,” they all repeat after me. “And let Him have his way. It is His night. It is His moon. And it is to us that He makes this gift.”
“I will make myself pure for Merlin,” says Olivia Lanzetti.
“We will all be pure for Merlin,” everyone says. Together. In unison. But the only word in the phrase I hear is the word pure. And the only voice I hear is Juliet’s voice.
“The caldron must be filled now,” I command.
Kenny Cooper takes the caldron to the edge of the clearing where there is a spring. He fills the caldron with water and brings it back.
“Gather around me and I will give you the earth,” I say.
“The moon and the fire,” Harry says after me.
I take a handful of sacred salt from a container laid at my feet. I hold it over the caldron of water.
> “Life is an illusion if it is not pure,” I say. “I will fill the caldron with the seeds of indulgence and we will all be pure.”
“Pure as the flesh of Merlin,” says Harry Oliver.
“Pure as the moment of birth,” says Lou Lanzetti.
“Pure as the breath of life,” says Marcus Kessler.
“Pure as the eye of a lamb,” says Nora Kessler.
“Pure,” Juliet says. Her voice is a whisper. I can barely hear her. But the meaning shouts out to all of us. Yes, she is pure. In all the ways that matter most to every one of us. Until Merlin’s fingers touch her and make her one of the Thirteen.
I take a large sponge and dip it in the sacred water and sponge my body, my arms and legs, my neck and stomach but I do not sponge my chest and I do not sponge between my legs.
I hand the sponge to Barbara Orton who is standing to my right. She repeats my actions and hands the sponge to her sister who is next to her. The sponge makes its way around the circle and when we have all used it, it comes back to me and I plunge it into the caldron of salt water.
“We are almost pure,” I said. “We are almost one. In unity there is truth. The moon is the only law.”
I take a second sponge. It is larger than the first and it is black. I dip it in the salt water and wash myself thoroughly on my chest and between my legs.
“I purify the three sacred tips of my body for Merlin,” I say.
The second sponge is passed around the circle and each member of the coven sponges the chest and between the legs and then says, “I purify the three sacred tips of my body for Merlin.”
All of us are still wearing robes. We cannot see each other’s bodies. Not yet. But we begin to sense each other and feel an awareness of the physical presence of every other person in the circle.
This is the beginning of excitement. A feeling that will slowly become more intense. The beginning of truth. The awareness that we are all separate and we are all together at the same time. Even though at this moment there is no time. We are one body and many bodies and we belong to each other and to ourselves. And to Merlin.