Beginnings

This is one of the chapters that amuses me. Considering who Una is later on in life, I'm sure admitting this to someone out loud was hard for him, even though I'm sure he makes others admit their flaws all the time. It is a very honest insight. Though I don't agree with Vera's timing or her choice of how to go about it.

The conversation between Vera and Una in the swan room made me giggle a little too.

Read, Review and Enjoy.




We ate and dressed. Vera led the way, slowly, out of her rooms and down the covered walkway. Down the walkway, we walked past where we usually turned to the gardens. Four columns past the latticework Vera entered another part of the stone temple through an open doorway. Through the doorway was another hallway lit with torches. This hallway was plain but for a small tapestry before each turning off. Marking the way in a code that only those who lived in the temple could understand.

At the swan we turned right, then shortly thereafter we stopped in front of large wood doors carved with a swan taking flight. At Vera’s command, I pulled the double doors open. I noted the odd weight of the handles in my hands, of how my muscles seemed to strain to open them. The doors were tall and thick, wood through and through and heavy.

Inside the room fresh air flowed in through several holes, far up in the wall. Each of these holes struck a reflective surface and helped illuminate the room. I stared about me a good while before I realised this. Vera, seeing my curiosity, set a hand on my shoulder.

“A new thing I am trying. As the sun reflects off water, so I wanted to reflect it into my rooms. Living with torches and candles can become quite dreary. But that is not why I brought you here.”

I followed her hand gesture and to the group of women lazing on day couches and pillows. All were dressed in linen, mostly in white, though a few skirts seemed to be the result of experimenting with dyes. Dyes at that time were far from perfect, splotches of colours moved across the skirts, from light to dark in varying shades as the dye changed to imperfections in the linen.

The women ranged in size from short, a dwarf, to petite, to bosomy and even to the very large. Hair colours were mainly blondes and browns. At that time in history all the people were blond and brown. A few had the dark brown, as my hair had been, but black was rarely seen. Eyes all the shades of brown and one set of sparkling blue. They all smiled at me invitingly.

But I turned to Vera confused. While any other young man would know what to do and would salivate at the idea of a room full of women being available to him, it only baffled me. My first question was, why would I want a whore? My second was, is this some kind of trick? My mind ran through all the thoughts, that I should pity them, that I should save them from a life of whoring, that this was not where they belonged, that they must be teachers and I must be wrong in my thought that they were whores in the first place.

“Pick one, any one of them,” Vera murmured.

“For what?” I asked.

To which a few of the women giggled behind hands and fans.

“Sexual pleasure.”

I looked back at the women and must have had a horrified look on my face for when I looked back at Vera she smile politely and patted my shoulder.

“You’ll learn about it soon enough.”

“No.” I knew what sex was. Unfortunately. “They.” It was a delicate matter to explain this. I was taught that Mother despised the wasting of seed and a man who lay with other men wasted all his seed.

“Ah, they are not what you prefer.”

“Ka.”

“What do you prefer?” Vera asked. She paused as I blushed in embarrassment, then sighed out, “I’ve heard it all. What is your preference? Animals?” I shook my head, “Children,” shook my head even harder. Vera thought for a moment before she said, “fish?” I blinked at her but then shook my head as I had the unfortunate luck of picturing a man trying such a thing. “a dead body?” a hard shake of my head and a disgusted look, “well then, I’ve all but run out of things…shoes? Trees? Vegetables?”

“What?”

“Vegetables.”

“People actually…”

“Yes. There was one gentleman who came through who for some reason was obsessed with gourds. And just helped himself to several of my prized plants.”

“Did we not have gourd soup last night for dinner?” I muttered.

“Oh, I would not feed a used vegetable to you or to my guests. Well. Except him. I do not believe in wasting food. Though he seemed to enjoy that even more than he did having the gourd in the first place.”

“Ew.”

Vera shrugged, “but if you have no desire for animals, children, fish, dead, shoes, trees or vegetables. What do you desire?”

To which I blushed once more. Vera watched me for a long moment, frowning.

“I. I like.” In front of a room full of women I had to say this and I expected all kinds of reactions, “I prefer. My own.”

“Your own.” Vera asked, apparently not understanding.

I came to find out in years later that this is a method Vera uses to make a person speak their desires out loud. How much they struggle to keep from saying it is how much work Vera believes they need. Sexuality should be in the open in Vera’s temple, for it is how every person is begotten and how the next generation will be conceived so one might as well have fun doing it.

“Ka, my own.” I made a motion down by my hip, more out of nerves than anything else. As Vera’s eyes shifted to my finger, I blurted out, “boys.”

“Young men?”

“We-”

“Because if you liked boys you would like children and I do not allow that here.”

“Males my own age.”

Vera made a face, “we shall have to adjust that. You will not always have males your own age to play with. Come now, this way,” she motioned out the door and I left the swan room with her following closely behind.

I closed the swan doors and we walked back to the main hallway and back towards Vera’s rooms. She kept the males closest to her, always. For protection, entertainment and a buffer between her and other females. We turned right at the leaping stag and shortly thereafter we came to a stop in front of large wooden doors that had been thrown open. The males, ranging from about my age to middle aged, were in the middle of clearing out their rooms. Spring cleaning.

The furniture was shifted to the walls, each had a broom or duster or wash cloth in hand. Their clothing was older than that of the women, pulled out of wardrobe
and chest for the purpose of cleaning house. The group had not been expecting a visit from Vera, let alone a stranger, and looked startled for a long moment before the eldest male cleared his throat and they came together, lined up for inspection.

The males separated themselves into two groups. Though one was not distinguishable, physically, from the other, it seemed to me that the one was more attractive than the other.

“Would you like a receiver?” Vera murmured, motioning to the group on the right, “they are all quite talented with hands, mouth and between the sheets.” As I puzzled over what a receiver was, she motioned to the others and said the words that made my stomach drop and tie in a knot, “or a giver?”

I knew after the second title what Vera meant when she said ‘receiver,’ a person who would be the woman, who would spread their legs for the other. The givers sent a shiver through me, and not a good one, either. I wanted to run away from them even though I was certain without a doubt that they would chase me down and rape me one after the other.

It was paranoid nonsense, obviously, but for someone with such fresh wounds it is a very real possibility. All men wanted to rape and murder me. The woman, well they hardly seemed to exist to me, besides Vera.

“Perhaps a giver would be best.” Vera murmured.

“No!” I cried out and jabbed a finger at one of the ones Vera had called receivers, “him. He’ll do. He’s fine. I can have him. I don’t want a giver, I’m good with him. He’s good.”

“Oh, perfect choice,” Vera said as if she had not noticed my sudden fright, “Uhm. Which one did you choose?”

“I,” the youngest of the group stepped forward, “think he was pointing at me.”

Seeing the young man, probably only a few years older than me, as the one to step forward alleviated my fear. A male my own age was less of a threat than the others. Even knowing that the young man was meant to be a receiver, I was afraid of him. My heartbeat elevated and I felt light headed. I hardly paid attention as Vera introduced me to the young man who was about to take my virginity. I do not recall what the rules were that I was told. Even as I was certain I was going to pass out, I wanted to vomit at the same time.

Vera led the way to a smaller room that branched off of the leaping stag room. She ushered myself and the young man into the room and closed the door behind us.

I could tell you that we had sweet, glorious sex. That I was the best he ever had and it was as amazing as could be. But while that would be a better story, it is not what happened.

As soon as the door closed, I flew into a worse panic. I sunk to the chair by the door and placed my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. The whole world spun in a slow spiral as I tried to gain control over myself. When the young man did not immediately tear at my clothing or try to touch me, my head settled enough for me to look up.

He had stripped off his little apron and his shirt. What was left was a pair of pants and the young man seemed to be content with his state of undress.

“You do not enjoy sex,” the young man murmured, fingers trailing down the middle of his chest idly.

“No.”

“Come here,” he held out a hand and I, for some reason, stood and moved to him, taking his hand, “sex is easy. Take off your clothing, I’ll turn around if you want.”

“Please.”

He turned his back to me. I turned my back to him for added privacy and took off my shirt and then my pants. There was not a doubt in my mind that I had to engage in some sort of sexual act to get out of the room. For that time, there was no drawn out talking and slow caresses, no convincing to take part. I stripped off my clothing and folded each item, placing each atop the flat topped chest at the end of the bed.

Once I was stripped. I stood there, wringing my hands and uncertain what to do. The young man seemed to realise that I was undressed, for he went to the thick, two wicked, candle that lighted the room and placed some kind of shade over it. The shade dimmed the light of the room and changed the rays that did escape the shade into stars that danced on the walls as the flame moved.

The young man motioned to the bed, “Climb under the blankets.”

I did as I was bid and pressed my back against the wall, covering myself to the chin with the blankets. The young man stripped off his pants in a casual way, in plain view even though I looked towards the ceiling as he undressed. He slid under the blankets and brushed his hip accidentally against my hand under the blankets. I made a small sound at the back of my throat and pulled away. My back already being against the wall, I ended up thumping my head on the stone.

“Now.” the young man waited a moment for my attention to move to him before he said, “come between my legs.”

“Between…” I was confused.

He was gentle as he took my hand and drew me between his legs. I settled there, my body willingly and eagerly reacting to a male body. The fire in my belly reminded me that I had not had sex in a good long time. It begged to be let loose. Rising to the occasion was not difficult for me, though I was completely baffled as to what to do or how to do it. Though I had been in the young man’s position before.

Well, from my new position it was confusing. There I was, settled between silken smooth thighs, warm against my cool skin, hard and poking at his bits down beneath the blankets. I knew he was not interested, not really. Yet his heat burned through my limbs.

Settled there, I had several moments to ponder what to do before he took hold of my hips, adjusted his own and guided me in. Or. Tried to. I missed twice.

Missing is not pleasant for the one whose entrance has been missed. For males, the simple act of having sex can begin unpleasant. Male with a male, I mean, of course. But to be laying there, uncertain of what is going to happen and then someone jabs you in your tender parts.

The third time, they say, is the charm. I penetrated the young man and he clenched his jaw and made a sound that drove me deeper into him. He mewled and met my hips. I thrust once. Twice. And spilled into him with a moan before collapsing overtop of him.

He sighed out and tapped my shoulder lightly, “come on big boy, time to move.”

A term that I really should have known were a whore’s words. For that was what he was, he and a woman had been instructed to make themselves known and to try to bed me. Both were loose. Were basic whores, who would sleep with anyone who paid and Vera was paying them quite well to sleep with me. He had faked his mewl and had moved his hips in time to my thrust to encourage me.

But I was young and foolish and thought I had been good at sex. The young man did not cry or cringe away from me or complain about the treatment of him thus, in my mind, he must have enjoyed it as much as myself.

Sex can make people very stupid.

And right then. I was very, very stupid.

.