Shaking off the strange thought, he tried to remember where he had put his key. In his pocket, of course. Squinting both from his inebriated state and the general lack of light, he fished around, finally managed to get the solitary key from the pocket of his soaked jeans and raised it in triumph.
“Gotcha!” he crowed, just before a loud clap of thunder made him almost leap from his skin. The small metal key tumbled from his hand and into the shallow waters of the Phoenix fountain. As he bent over to peer into the violently heaving waters, the air filled with the smell of ozone. Before he could move, a loud crack sounded, boomed through the air, and something slammed into his chest, hard.
He was momentarily blinded as the air was sucked from his lungs. His ears popped and he could smell something burning, then all he could see was white. But he could feel. And he felt himself falling, falling, falling. Headfirst, he seemed to plunge down what seemed to be a mountainside, before his head slammed into something hard. Damn, he thought as his lungs began to fill with water. I guess I never will find my lion.
* * * * *
Breathe! The command slammed into his brain and suddenly Gray was aware of being in the water—way too much water for a fountain or a rain puddle. Breathe! It commanded again. Breathe and fight!
He obeyed, kicking his legs sluggishly as he tried to push the water away from himself. He fought toward the diminishing light above him. He wanted to live. He knew that in his heart, no matter how bad things got, he would never wish death. He was too young to die. He had so much to live for!
But the flesh was growing weak and his ability to move his body was being called into question, as well as his ability to continue to hold his breath. His lungs were screaming for him to suck in a deep breath and he didn’t think he could hold out much longer.
Just when Gray was sure his lungs were going to explode—he was seeing spots in front of his eyes—something else thrust itself in his line of sight. Who cared what it was? He reacted instantly and latched onto it, using it to pull himself up. The thing, he realized, was a human hand, pulling him to the surface. It gave him an extra reason to fight. Then the world began to spin as he popped from the water like the cork from a bottle of wine.
Gray sucked in a deep breath of air. Cool sweet air. The sun was blazing down, burning his eyes, and the warm air was…
Day?
Then he saw the most amazing thing. Bright pink hair. It was bright pink with white stripes and yellow eyes! Yellow eyes! Pink Hair was dragging him onto shore and the sand was…
Sand?
He was in a hotel courtyard. He was at an inn. There were no beaches and it was night, and there were no people with bright yellow eyes and pink hair. He had to be drunk. No more Jamison's.
In the perfect imitation of a Southern belle, his eyes rolled toward the back of his head and he landed face first. In the sand. On a beach that should have been a friggin’ fountain in a courtyard at an inn!
Chapter Two
“Mmm,” Gray sighed as he snuggled deeper into his bedclothes. He was so happy he'd decided on the mink comforter. It wrapped and enveloped his body in a tingling heat as its soft fur caressed him tenderly. It was almost like being held in a lover’s arms. He groaned in delight as the soft fur caressed his morning wood, almost like a soft teasing grasp.
He felt a pleasant buzzing in his balls and had to resist the urge to thrust up against the material and intensify the feeling. But he was really too relaxed to get into a heavy masturbation session so early in the morning. So he settled back and enjoyed the feel of his blood filling his cock, his seed churning in his balls, and the gentle stimulation of the fur over his body as it tangled between his legs and rubbed all his sensitive places the right way.
The crackle of the fire was nice too. He was really blessed to have this fireplace in his bedroom. It was so much easier to run around naked when there was a constant source of heat. And a lover’s skin by firelight was truly a thing of magic. This was a damn near perfect morning. Though his mattress was a little harder than he liked…
Mattress? He had a waterbed! And he never bought the fur comforter. It was too damned expensive to have a friggin’ fur muff on said waterbed. It would cost too much to get cleaned. Well, he did have a fireplace in his bedroom, but it was the middle of summer. Who had a fire in the middle of the friggin’ summer?
Jolting up and pushing the furs away, Gray discovered one more thing about his situation. It was the middle of the night, the outside night, and he was completely buck-naked.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he heard something move off to his left. Turning slowly in that direction, he saw a sight that would be engraved in his mind for the rest of his life. It was a bug! It was a huge bug! It was a huge bug slowly rotating on a spit over an open fire!
“Uh…” he managed as his face took on an amazing green cast as memories of the past crowded his mind. Never again, he thought in a panic.
“For you,” a rich voice rasped, pulling him away from his waking nightmare.
Gray looked around to see a fall of pink hair and brightly glowing eyes, a face hidden in shadows. “I…” He tried to speak, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat, along with a lot of whisky and Amaretto.
Smiling, the pink person stepped closer and Gray got his first true look at its features. If it was male or female, he couldn’t tell, but he/she was tall. At least six feet, if he/she was an inch, and it moved with a fluid grace he envied. It moved like a cat. Long hair, about the length of his, shone almost purple in the firelight, but he knew it was pink. He remembered seeing that unusual color before the world ceased to exist for him.
As he stared in wonder, the eyes turned to him, flashing their brilliant shade of bright yellow, before the creature knelt beside the fire. It was dressed in long flowing robes that defied gender, but it was accessorized nicely. A bright, shining diamond shone in the middle of its forehead, suspended there how, he had no idea, but it seemed to sparkle with the life of its wearer.
The wearer that was now smiling at him, flashing a set of perfect white teeth a dentist would envy, a welcoming look on the pretty face. He stared in open-mouthed wonder as he/she started reaching out to him, wanting to hand him something. Then he recalled the earlier words, “For you.”
“For me?” he managed, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. A personal sex toy? A fantasy made flesh to replace all that he had sacrificed for the greater good of a friend?
Nodding, the beautiful creature held something that emanated warmth and smelled vaguely of chicken.
Looking down, he noted what this beautiful pink-crowned creation was holding out to him. It was a roasted bug on a stick. He gulped twice, his eyes going wide as he stared in horror at the smoking thing. One of its many legs seemed to wave weakly at him, inviting him to take a bite.
“Delicious,” the voice rasped, and he felt the world began to shift. Darkness converged upon him as his eyes again rolled toward the back of his head.
The last thing he remembered before his head struck the furs was that someone really needed to cater these little flights of fancy he was going through. And no open bar. One hallucination this major per lifetime was more than enough.
Chapter Three
Gethla stared down at the man who now lay in a heap on her furs and shook her head. If he didn’t eat Chroan, he should have said so. And after she spent half the day culling one of the young tender ones from the herd too.
She had to admit, he was unusual looking. First off, he was extremely tall, easily the tallest man she had ever seen. That was saying something because her tribe was known for their height. Then there was his hair. Who had ever seen hair the color of the night sky? That was strange, but his eyes were…well, they were really eerie. They were the color of some of the grass that grew in the northern region, the poisonous stuff that only Chroan could stomach without dying.
She sighed as she stared down at the stranger she had plucked from the enchanted lake, and won
dered what he was. It hadn't been her intention to travel this path with the herd, but a young one had escaped and she'd tracked it to this place she tended to avoid more than others.
Despite what the village story-mage had told them about the dark powers of the mystical waters, she had decided to make camp there for the day. The herd traveled best at night. No one could imagine her shock when she went to collect water for washing and saw the dark-haired one struggling to the surface.
At first she had thought him some strange plant or unfortunate creature that managed to get itself into some kind of trouble. Then as the thing flipped, she noticed the distinctly human features and raced in to help.
She never thought that she would pull this tall, lanky specimen of man from the waters. She stripped him down to be sure. Well, getting him warm was the excuse she used, but she was curious to see what a grown man, particularly this grown man, looked like.
She was not disappointed, though she did wonder at the strange markings that circled his navel and the metal bar that pierced the flesh right above it. Maybe that was his sign of virility. Maybe he was…able to get it up.
Gethla almost crowed in delight. Hard, hot, male cock! And all hers for the taking. But there was that little matter of her fertility, and the fact that she was already spoken for. With a sigh, she tossed out all thoughts of having him riding high between her thighs. This was her last roundup. When she returned home, it was her duty to give up the mantle of leadership that she had worn since her parents passed and take up the role as breeder.
Not that she wouldn’t be cared for and comforted in her place, pushing out children every year to sustain her people. And she would be getting a lot of sex then, if the progeny-starved villages had enough to pay stud services, but she doubted the sex she was going to get would be the sex that she wanted.
She wanted what her parents had. Sure, she was born of a breeder, but her sire seriously loved his partner. She recalled the times they disappeared together, giggling like the newly partnered, and the shout of joy that did flare because they were truly in love. The sex was just an extension of that feeling.
But in her preordained role as breeder, she doubted she would ever find love, or even enjoyment for that matter. It was just something that she had to do, for the life of her people, for the protection of their valley, for the honor of her sire. He had chosen to love the breeder-born child he sired. Most of the breeder-born were sent off to be reared in seclusion, protected from all of life’s pains and enjoyments, going blissfully ignorant into a world that would offer them nothing more than the want of their fertility.
Her sire had explained to her a long time ago that some people thought it best to keep the breeders blissfully ignorant of what life had to offer, besides a string of pregnancies that would result in the loss of that child so that the next fertile male with the money could have progeny. He felt that it was her right to experience some joy in life, to have some happiness before the rest of her existence was boiled down to what was between her legs and the jewel in her forehead.
Absently, she ran her fingers over that clear jewel, and duly cursed and praised the damn thing. She praised it because it granted her status. It was a tool to help her people. She cursed it for what it would lead her to do.
A moan from the man lying limply across her furs jolted her out of her dark thoughts and back to her present reality. What to do with the strange one? She looked around the nearly arid area surrounding—the mysterious lake and the broken stones and pillars. The story-mages told of a once greatly misunderstood power, and warned to leave such magical things be.
The strange one was not equipped to deal with this land. He had no weapons to defend against rustlers, no provisions to last the next day, and he was woefully unprepared for the stray wild Chroan that would devour him before he could even think about running away.
There was no help for it. Potent temptation or not, she had to take the strange male with her. It would be murder to leave him behind. Plus she had the added bonus of having some company as she made her final, fateful trek home. It would be good to have someone to talk to, and not dwell on the future that loomed depressingly over her.
Her decision made, Gethla turned her mind to other areas, like how much to charge for this roundup at market, how to choose the next leader of her people, and how to explain the strange male.
Chuckling, she settled herself to take watch for the rest of the night, on the lookout for predators both human and Chroan alike. At least this final trip lent her a bit of excitement before she began her long drudgery of an existence.
Chapter Four
The first thing he felt was the annoying dry mouth. He must have drunk far more than his fair share. The next thing he was aware of was that he had not turned the air conditioner up high enough. It was a bit hot in the room.
Or it could be because of the fire that was burning brightly, or the fur on his bed.
Fur?
“Sweet Lord, not again!” he groaned as he lifted his one hand to his eyes, trying to ignore what his rapidly awakening senses were telling him. He just didn’t want to open his eyes. He was afraid to see what would happen when said eyes opened. But that nagging voice in the back of his head was calling him a coward, trying to force him to open his eyes and face what was just outside his blocked line of vision.
“Get a grip,” he ordered himself. “You know this is just an Amaretto-induced hallucination. You can do this.” Moving one of his hands aside, he peeled one eyelid open, dreading what he would see.
What he saw made him emit the most feminine sound he ever produced, including his venture into role-play with Carlos and the Catholic schoolgirl uniform. Sometimes he hated being the partner with the longer hair.
“EEK!” It was the person—the he, the she, the it. In all of its pink-haired glory and sparkling yellow eyes.
“You can wake up,” he gasped as he closed his eyes and tried to remember his Tantric lessons. They weren’t just for prolonging sex, he recalled. “You can wake up now!”
“Is that cock real, or is it illusion?”
Damn! Hallucinations aren’t supposed to speak.
Gray cracked his eyes open again and yup, the mirage was still there. Fighting back the urge to whimper, he slowly sat up and examined the talking figment of his imagination.
“My cock?” he asked, confused then jerked the furs over his nakedness.
“Yes. It is rather long and thick. Will it grow more or will it stay that size as it hardens?”
“What?”
“Your cock. You do know what that is?”
“What is this?”
“It’s that long thing between your legs. I’ve never seen one so big.”
Gray blush at—her?—comment and again he found himself at a loss of words.
“Is that thing in your navel a sign of your virility? That is a good place to have it. The crystal in my forehead tells everyone who and what I am.”
Gray tilted his head to the side. “I think you’re a male, “ he theorized out loud. “I think you’re male because of your height and your voice. But your features are so feminine that you may be a girl. I think my dual nature is trying to tell me that. Maybe it’s telling me that I can get the best of both worlds only in a fantasy.”
The pink-haired figment blinked at him.
“Dreams,” Gray continued. “That is exactly what it is!”
He poked a finger at he/she and jumped as his finger hit the soft skin of his/her face. “I always liked soft skin,” he said as his figment regarded him as if he were a rambling idiot. “Soft skin and long hair.”
His fingers made forays into the long soft strands of pale pink hair that streamed around his/her robes. “Oh, this is nice! Almost makes me want to go back and get those burgundy underlights I wanted. But I thought it would clash with my eyes.”
“Your eyes are strange.”
“My eyes are unusual, I admit, but they are nothing like yours. Why yellow eyes? Must be my
desire for peace and my pacifist nature.” That straight in his mind, he decided to sit back and enjoy the fantasy.
“But what about your cock?”
“My cock? Hmm, this must be my feeling of inadequacy. But that can’t be right. I haven’t had a premature ejaculation since I was twelve. I was a very gifted child. So that must mean that I’m not getting enough. I guess that means I’m going to have to start dating. Yes, that’s it. And you must represent the fact that I need to let go of the idea of Mary-Baby and get on with my life, that loves dies if it doesn’t get nurtured and whatever we could have had years ago has died, leaving only the love of a man and his good friend in its place.”
“Uh…”
“And now that I’ve that figured out, I’m going to lay down, go back to sleep, and wake up refreshed and ready to people-watch with Mary-Baby tomorrow on the beach. Good night, pink-haired one. Thank you for your subconscious message to get on with my life.”
“Strange man?”
Still laying back, his eyes closed, he answered, amusement in his voice. “My name is Gray. And you should know who I am because I’m the one who created you.”
“Gray, would you like something to eat?”
“Yes!” he said, still not bothering to open his eyes. “I would like a steak, rare, a baked potato, fully loaded, and…” Gray paused when he smelled something delicious. “Okay, that will do!” It was his dream. He could eat what he wanted.
He sat up opened his eyes…and gagged. It really was a bug! A roasted bug…on a stick. “This must be my subconscious fear of bugs!” he whispered as he stared in fascinated horror at the roasted thing the pink-haired one was holding out toward him. He closed his eyes and swallowed deeply.
“I got you a young fresh one,” Pink Hair told him with a smile. “It is best to get them when they are young. If they get too old they are all exoskeleton and no meat.”
Threshold Volume 2 Page 11
