9 comments/ 140690 views/ 60 favorites The Good King By: lilywhite31 Once upon a time there lived a good and handsome King. He lived in a land so beautiful and rich that all the villagers rejoiced at his name. He was strong and mighty and powerful and all other kingdoms paled in comparison to his. He had many, many things to be thankful for and King Ronald was very grateful, however, one thing brought a great deal of sadness to the good King. Although, he had many, many daughters, eight beautiful princesses to love and spoil, he had no son. Without an heir, his kingdom would pass to the next in line, which happened to be his miserable prick of a brother. Prince Neville was evil from the tips of his eyebrows to the bottom of his perfect pink toes. Prince Neville was equally handsome, but he disliked almost everyone. He hated the villagers and was well known for his disgusting habits of raiding nearby villages and raping the lonely widows and virgins. He was also known for being very stingy and mean to his own household and family. Prince Neville was blessed with eight equally mean little bastards. His sons routinely bothered and harassed King Ronald's daughters and due to very underhanded circumstances, he was unable to stop the marriage of two of his daughters to Prince Neville's sons, Devlin and Dominic. Most of you reading this will probably remark that good King Ronald should just fill his good Queen's belly, but alas, Queen Jenna was unable to conceive. So then, the lovely, blonde vixen decided that she should start pursuing the vast array of pleasures in life, namely, other men's cocks. Queen Jenna was a horny slut and all the men of the village loved her, often, while the wives simply smiled and looked away. However, you really shouldn't feel sorry for King Ronald, for although seven of his daughters had been married off to wealthy, handsome grooms, he still had his youngest daughter, his prettiest flower, his little April. Of course, he also had the very nice services of his passionate mistress Lady Lovelace as well. So, other than this extremely troubling problem of having no son, King Ronald was actually quite content. However, one day, good King Ronald's advisor, Sir Randy came to the King to tell him the news that his daughter Patriqa. Patriqa, his eldest daughter had given birth to a healthy, cute baby boy. This ordinarily would have been delightful news; however, the father's child was his nephew Devlin, Neville's son! The good King felt helpless against the likelihood of his lands falling into his brother's hands. King Ron worried and worried and worried some more. He looked at his situation from all the angles, but the fact remained that his lands and title could only be passed on to a MALE from his bloodline. Up until this point, the good King was simply relieved that none of Neville's schemes to kill him had ever actually worked. It now seemed, however, that he would have find a solution and quick. The good King once again looked at the pickle he was in, trying to see his problem with new eyes, when his lovely daughter caught his attention. She was bathing in a nearby lake, her clothes crumpled in a pile on the grassy shoreline. He could see she was completely naked. Smiling indulgently, he knew his little girl was happiest when she was acting the little hoyden. She ran around his lands like a happy puppy, despite her advanced age. His youngest girl, April, was well past the age where she should be living with her parents. At the age of 18 years, he should have found her a suitable husband, but he found himself reluctant to release his last child to the care of a stranger, even a stranger that would spoil her rotten, as he had done. He had had many offers for her hand; she would make any husband a true jewel for his arm and bedroom. Yet, he hesitated every time, saying, she needed to grow up a little more. If he sometimes stared longingly at his youngest daughter, noting the swell of her sweet tits and the gentle slope of her backside, then he ignored it as a man's simple appreciation for a lovely lady. If lately, he insisted on sitting through most of her dress fittings then it was he assured himself, only to make sure she was given the best service possible. Yes, he still tucked her in bed every night and helped with her bath time and if he sometimes felt his balls and cock swell at the sight of her generous figure and sweet pussy, then his accommodating mistress was always ready for a nice, long ride. Today the weather was hot and humid and he knew his youngest daughter would be visiting her favorite lake and was sure to swim naked. Her long black hair flowed like silk behind her in the water. He caught the briefest glimpse of her white ass rising out of the water. Her arms guided her to the shore where she spied her father's tall, large frame. She had her mother's looks with her father's dark coloring. Her beautiful blue eyes sparkled with happiness when her father reached his hands out to help her out of the lake. She was truly daddy's girl and threw her arms around her father's large frame, soaking his regal clothes. The King simply laughed at his daughter's exuberance and stepped closer so that he could feel every curve and bump of her small body. He pushed his erection against her lovely thighs and sighed happily when she moved in closer. His cock bounced excitedly as his hands moved down to feel her luscious ass where he dipped his fingers into the crevice of her ass cheeks. Slowly he slid one finger gently against her pucker hole. April giggled sweetly and nibbled her father's strong neck while her hands played the curls at the base of his head. Anyone who happened by the embraced couple would never imagine that they were father and daughter. April was use to her father's affection. He explained when she turned 18 that because she wasn't married yet, he would have to instruct her in the ways of men. April, not willing to leave her father was more than happy to except her father's tutelage. In the mean time, he was very careful to not breach her maidenhood and simply enjoyed her young body in what he considered, very innocent ways. She enjoyed her father's frequent embraces and how he made her young body feel. "You shouldn't be displaying so much of your beautiful body, my sweet," her father kindly admonished. "I know father, but you're the only one who ever finds me," April explained softly, nibbling his ear as her hands slowly reached for his hard cock. His britches barely held his strong erection and her hands moved against his hardness, her legs lifting up between his legs and rubbing back and forth against his fuckstick. "Oh! I love the feel of your body against mine daddy. I wish you would truly make me a woman," April moaned against his throat. The good King chuckled, listening to his daughter's common request. Ever since he had let her watch him mount his mistress two weeks ago, for purely educational purposes, she often begged for him to fuck her. Although, he ached to bust her cherry, he knew that if she was to find a worthy suitor, she would have to remain intact, even though it took everything in him to deny her. His cock hardened to an unbearable ache. The King's balls filled and he rubbed his staff against April's knee, trying to ease the throbbing. His girl had an uncommon ability to arouse her daddy. He would like nothing better than to relieve himself inside his daughter's tight channel. It would be such an exquisite hole to fill. "Please Daddy ... You know that you like how I can make you feel," the sweet, virgin begged her father. She slipped her hands inside her father's pants and fondled his heavy erection. Her mouth caressed his strong neck, sucking and licking in desire. "What of your future husband, precious?" the Good King growled in need. "I don't care to have a husband father. All I wish for in my future is children and I don't need a lordly husband for that darling father," April moaned, grinding against the shaft she was molding with her small, gifted hands. She wanted to serve her father's kingly needs the way Lady Lovelace did every night. Frustrated beyond his endurance, the King Ron pushed his daughter to her knees and allowed her to pleasure his royal stick in her juicy mouth. April wasn't as experienced as his favorite mistress, but she was learning at an amazing rate. Her hands rubbed his cock up and down and her greedy, moist mouth enveloped the large knob. April delighted in the taste of her father in her mouth. She watched for years as her mother flaunted her affairs in her darling father's face and still her daddy remained respectful, only taking to his bed his rightful mistress. If April was in her mother's place, she would show her King all the sexual joy she could, every night. She was grateful to her father for trying to keep her chaste for her future groom, but the only groom she lusted for was her own father. The Good King moaned appreciatively as his favorite child licked and suckled him in earnest. Truly, she would make an excellent wife some day. She already made a fabulous daughter. The King was truly blessed and he knew it, despite his problems with his bastard of a brother. As April stuffed his royal prick more firmly into her oral crevice, King Ron got an astonishing idea. His sweet April would serve as his vessel! She would birth the next royal heir. His heir! His son! She would serve as his royal mistress. Nothing in their laws forbid him from choosing his daughter as his sex slave and Lady Lovelace had long since served her purpose. He would simply take his daughter and fuck her until she produced the heir he sought. If his brother abducted her, then he would already have his prior claim. Short of murder, Neville couldn't stop him! With purpose and rigor, the Good King humped his daughter's face. He watched in delight as she swallowed his long and mighty length. The soft sounds she emitted only served to arouse the King even fuller. King Ron was willing to bet his right ball that her virgin folds were wet with syrupy juice. His own mouth watered in anticipation of lapping at those soft lips. He couldn't wait to make her squeal in agony and beg him to mount her gluttonous snatch. The King grasped her silky head, thrusting against her, urging her on. Holding his cock, in one hand, she squeezed his balls with the other. Her small tongue sucked at the narrow opening, trying to force out the creamy nectar. Her movements were almost desperate and so hungry that she reminded the King of one of his hogs at their trough. Her tiny snorts and pants sounded like a piggy and it amused him that his daughter could fall so lowly, but then she was like all women, he mused, ready to be used. Their holes opened to any sword, ready to be rode and filled. The sweet Princess lapped like a good pet should and moved one hand behind her father so she could squeeze his buttocks. She slipped her hand between his legs and her tiny thumb entered his butt hole. King Ron growled and humped, if possible, with even more vigor. She sucked with more pressure, drawing his cock deeper into her hot, wet hole. With a roar and groan, the King emptied his cock into his daughter's mouth. His seed spilled like thick water and tasted like hearty, salty pork to his little slut. For several moments the King simply held his daughter's head against his groin without speaking while she continued to lick and clean his person. She even sucked up some of the sperm that had dropped his shoes. She'd pleased him well. His heart thrummed inside his big chest with contentment. "Listen to me my pet," the King said gently, "I wish for you to come to my chambers tonight. There is much you must learn if you wish to serve a king." "Oh! Do you mean it father? Truly?" she chimed, her lovely face breaking into a joyous smile. The King could only grin at her enthusiasm as her brought her to her feet and enveloped her in a big, loving hug. "Truly, my angel," King Ron answered benignly. "You shall be taught by the most seasoned whores in the entire Kingdom how to bring me to fulfillment with just a tiny squeeze of your thighs ... and I shall, in return, fill your womb with my kingly seed and you shall bring forth new blood to my throne," he announced proudly. "Father! Father! I .. I can barely believe you mean this. I promise though, I shall serve you fully in every manner," the Princess answered hotly, grounding her greedy cunt against her father's manhood. With a groan, the King bent down and gently bit and licked the lips of his saucy, horny daughter. What a good little piece of fuckmeat she was! The Good Kingdom My name is Francesca Karin Aadland Romanetti and I am the leader of the people of the "Good Kingdom," the mountain valley paradise that is known to the native Tibetans as Swarga Loka, which is its Sanskrit name. My family of sisters and I live on the highest mountain in Tibet, called the Shishma Pangma, where the colossal Himalayan Mountains form a border between the Indian subcontinent and the rest of Asia. The Himalayas are the world's tallest mountains, towering more than five miles above sea level. Himalaya means "home of snow" because the tallest peaks of the Himalayas are always capped with ice crystals. I know all these things because my father told me. He was an Italian explorer who found his way to our mountain vihara, or monastery, almost twenty years ago, and the last man to live among my people. He is dead now, having succumbed several years ago to the mysterious illness that has plagued every male since this valley was discovered by our Scandinavian ancestors more than 300 years ago in 1707. I celebrated my eighteenth birthday yesterday and am the youngest woman ever to be chosen as leader of our people. It is a great honor because the leader is chosen based upon her wisdom and steadfast temper—qualities that are not usually predominant in young girls. But my father, a descendant of a noble Roman family, and possessed of the same gravitas and virtues of his ancient ancestors, imparted these same traits to me; partly from his strict teachings and partly from the inherited bloodline of our forebears. He married my mother, a Norwegian woman of great standing in our village, nineteen years ago, and he loved her very much. And although I loved my mother greatly, it was my father who taught me about the modern world—its greatness and its perversions, and all the wonders to be discovered by the scientific examination of nature. My mother died only a few months after he did. Some of the women said she had a weak heart, but I rather think she died of a broken heart, for she loved my father more than life itself. Our former leader, Grete, died a few weeks ago at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, and there was a great ceremony held in her honor. Before she died, Grete urged my sisters to make me their leader because, as she put it, "Francesca has the soul of the old ones within her and the power of youth to keep her true to her purpose." What that really meant I never understood, but it impressed my sisters enough to make them choose me as their leader, and I will remain so for as long as I live. All these things I am recording in my journal for posterity—for those who will come after me. Every leader since the earliest times has kept a journal, and the tradition is considered both a requisite and sacred one. By the time my ancestors had arrived here, the native Tibetans had already founded their primitive villages within the lush and fertile valley. In time, many of the natives intermarried with the fair-skinned, blue-eyed Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish immigrants. The British followed some decades later in the mid-to-late 18th century, and their culture eventually became our culture, and our official language became English. More adventures and explorers found their way to our mountain paradise over the next two centuries: Europeans, Australians, Americans, and Russians. There are now very few of us who are considered pure Scandinavian or pure Tibetan. But my father always insisted that that was the very reason why we have survived. Because contrary to the pseudo-scientific doctrine that racial purity ensures superior intellectual and physical development, it is the intermarriage of different races that keeps the gene pool diverse and strong. Judging by the abundant health and long life of our people, I would have to say that his theory has been proven correct. The Tibetan people themselves do not come here any longer and have not done so for over two hundred years. The last Tibetan man who lived in the valley was called Wangchuk, whose name means "powerful" or "mighty". He was one of the few people to have ever escaped from Swarga Loka alive. I know this is true because one of the European explorers who found his way to our valley told us that it was Wangchuk who had warned him to beware of the "valley of women," which is sacred to the goddess, Tara, who grants long life to women, but who shortens the life of man once he has eaten of the forbidden Mandukya plant—the aphrodisiac of the gods. The myth he created lives on to this day, and no Tibetan, and not even the Chinese, will make any attempt to venture here, for they believe our land to be cursed by the ancient gods. Today is a special day. It is the day of the annual harvest, and I am to preside over the celebration of the gathering of the crops. Our holy mother, who is named after the goddess Tara, will say a rite of thanksgiving. Although there are many among us who are considered Buddhists, there are those who follow the Christian faith, and others, like me, who believe in no gods at all. There is no persecution in our land. All people are free to believe whatever they like as long as they do not infringe upon the rights of others. My father once told me that Swarga Loka was exemplary in this respect, and that in no other country in the world was polytheism enjoined with such peaceful acceptance. I myself have little use for superstitions or ancient rituals but, for many of us, such practices serve a unifying purpose, and so I perform my duty to my people even though I do not necessarily share their beliefs. "Well, has your hand tired from writing all morning?" I looked up from my chair to see my friend Chari standing in the doorway of my lodge dressed in her finest silk gown, observing me with a bemused expression. Being one of the few true Scandinavians in our village, she was blessed with a fair complexion, long flaxen hair, and steely blue eyes that sparkled with an inner intensity. She had a heart as big as the valley itself but was not known for her patience. "You really must get dressed Francesca. The ceremony is going to begin very soon." "I know, I know," I replied, putting my paper and pencil down on the desk. "But sometimes when the mood strikes..." "Yes, yes, I know all about your moods. Everyone in the village knows about your moods. But you are our Dolma, and you must officiate at the ceremony. You know how important this is." "Of course I do. The people need their little rituals." "I know you don't believe as they do about such things, but at least you could try to be on time. They look to you, our chosen one, for guidance." "You don't have to remind me, Chari. Your chosen one will play the part and everyone will be happy—including you." That seemed to placate her because she stood there complacently watching me in silence as I hastily put on my officiating robe of white silk and sturdy sandals. By the time we reached the riverbank the entire population of over four hundred women and girls had already gathered together and were singing and chanting in the most delightful way. "Francesca!" said Juliette, approaching me with her perennial pipe in her hands. "I see that Chari has found you. You're late." She was a woman in her late forties who was known in the village for having the biggest mouth and the shortest temper. Her brown hair was perpetually cut short and she never went anywhere without her little pipe, which she smoked incessantly. Like me, she was a hybrid: her mother was French and her father an Englishman. Despite her obtrusive manners, she had always treated me with the utmost civility. "I had things to do," I replied. "She was writing in her journal when I found her," Chari said. "On the most sacred day of the year and she's writing in her journal!" Juliette laughed. "The same old Francesca! Just like her father. Always with their heads in the books!" "Or in the clouds!" Chari added. "I do what I do for the sake of posterity," I said. "Now if you both will excuse me, I have matters to attend to." Juliette stuck her pipe in her mouth and made a loud grunt as I made my way through the crowd and onto the summit of a small embankment overlooking the river. Tara was seated in a large, elaborate chair made of teak that had been removed from the vihara and placed on a wooden platform such that she could sit and be comfortable during the ceremony. As the symbol of the goddess Tara here on earth, her figure had to be elevated so that no one appeared taller than she. Even I, as leader of the people, had to submit to this ancient ritual, deferring to her on this and all other religious occasions. I stood in front of the platform looking up at the old woman who was now performing her usual benediction with a slight wave of her right hand. I bowed to her and placed my hand over my heart to signify my obedience to the will of the goddess. In my heart I had always been skeptical of religion, but I performed these duties because I loved her and respected the beliefs of my people. This was going to be the first time I had ever officiated at the harvest, but over the years I had watched others conduct the ceremony and I felt confident that I had learned the ritual well. It was certainly not much to ask of its unbelieving leader. I turned around to face the throng of people, all four hundred and three women, and I the youngest one amongst them, being the last person to be born eighteen years ago, the only child my father would ever produce. The diffused sunlight illuminated the lush valley below, throwing everything into a marked resplendence despite the fact that the sun itself remained hidden behind the impenetrable shield of voluminous clouds that floated lazily in the dreamlike, azure sky. The beautiful fragrance of growing things permeated the warm summer air like a refreshing zephyr, uplifting my spirit. Before me stretched a vast tract of land whose verdant meadows were populated with an unimaginable array of earth's incalculable bounty. It was the land of peach, apple, pear, and plum trees; of goldenrod, tiger lily, and lilac; of the stout pine tree and the majestic teak; of wheat, barley, and rice growing in cultivated fields that were fed by the undulating Yarlung Zangbo river, whose source derived from the mighty Shishma Pangma itself, many miles above the plateau. I thought of all the other leaders before me who had stood on this very ground, speaking the words I was now about to speak. And then I saw that the eyes of my sisters were upon me, waiting patiently for me to begin. "The goddess Tara has blessed this land with a temperate climate, fertile soil, and an abundant harvest for all of us to enjoy. Today we celebrate with joy and thanksgiving all the wonderful things she has bestowed upon us, her devoted people." As I said this I reached down into a wooden bowl and clutched a small handful of rice. I held my outstretched palm to the winds and let the rice fall through my fingers. "Let us rejoice and give thanks to the goddess," I said, watching the rice strike the ground and scatter in the breeze. I turned to Tara. She rose slowly from her chair and said a few words in Tibetan, a prayer that the goddess would keep us in her favor and grant us continued good fortune throughout the year. When this was done she sat down again. The ceremony was over. "No more work today," I said happily. "Today we have fun!" The crowd cheered and congratulated me for performing the ritual without making one mistake. The satisfied look on Tara's face told me that I had performed my duty well. As I waited for her to descend the platform, several sisters approached me and struck up a conversation. "The goddess has indeed been kind to us this year," said Natasha, a stout, middle-aged woman of Russian heritage. "We have more fruits and vegetables than we've ever had before." "We had a lot of rain this season," I reminded her. "The crops grew like crazy." "Yes, they did," rejoined Juliette. "And we worked like crazy too. I'm glad the gathering is over." "Francesca, my child," Tara said, laying her hand on my arm. "I don't want to see you do anything today except to enjoy yourself." "Don't worry, mataji," Chari said to Tara. "We'll make sure she does." "I promise, holy mother," I said as I kissed the old woman's cheek. "No more books for today." "Then come and sit by my side at the banquet table. It is right and honorable that you should do so." A century ago in Swarga Loka a square was constructed in the middle of the village where important issues concerning the village were discussed and debated. It had been the idea of one particularly bright, young Danish woman named Sofia. She had a natural propensity for carpentry, and it was her desire to erect a central edifice to conduct business of all sorts, as well as to serve as a meeting place for the community. Her idea was bold and thought quite impossible to construct given the dearth of skilled artisans and the limitation of resources. But it was found that the valley had abundant pine trees of several varieties that would provide excellent lumber for the project, and under Sofia's enlightened tutelage a core of trained workers soon evolved that made her vision of a town square a reality. It took several years to build, but when it was done, it was regarded as a marvel, which, to this day, is a point of pride with our people. It was such a work of beauty and practicality that it rivaled the vihara itself, which had been built by the Tibetans over two hundred years earlier. In the center of the square a long, rectangular dining table, which had been removed from the vihara the day before, was set up and festooned with all kinds of foodstuffs and beverages. As I took my place at Tara's side, I looked around to see who had been quick enough to find a seat at the table. Chari was seated at a spot at the far end, but Juliette and Natasha were forced to sit on the many wooden benches stationed on the periphery of the square. Others either stood or sat on the grass around us. But everyone, regardless of where they sat, was in a jovial mood, which was no doubt due to such an unusually abundant harvest. Sitting across from me, and looking as radiant as ever, was Astrid Johansen. The name "Astrid" means "divine beauty" in Scandinavian, and she certainly lived up to her name. She was several years old than me and was considered by many to be the most beautiful girl in the village. She was roughly my height with shoulder-length blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She was slim but her breasts were rather large, giving her a buxom appearance. I had always found her to be temperamental with a predilection for sarcasm. To my right sat Ide Bruun. Her grandmother, Sofia, was the woman who had designed and built the town square. She was thirty-three years old, pretty, with auburn hair and hazel eyes. She had taken care of me after my mother died and I had grown to love her as a sister. Ide was a hard working, no-nonsense woman and a steadfast realist, and who, like her grandmother, retained the practical woodworking skills of that industrious lineage. Once Tara has made the usual obsequies to our goddess of the harvest, we began to eat. Although we raised sheep and goats, we rarely ate them for food, preferring a vegetarian way of life as prescribed by ancient tradition. As I bit into a succulent pear, I noticed that Astrid was eyeing me with unusual curiosity. "What? What is it?" I asked her between mouthfuls. "Your hair," she replied, cocking her head to one side as if to gain a better perspective. "It's such a beautiful shade of red. You shouldn't keep it so close cut. You should let it grow out long like mine so that the sun can accentuate its highlights." "I like it short." "And your eyes..." she continued, ignoring me, "as green as emeralds and one of your best features. But you always insist on wearing those ridiculous sunglasses your father gave you. How do you expect to ever attract a man that way?" "Have you seen a man around here lately?" Astrid sighed. "You have no faith in you, Francesca. Did not Tara herself tell us that the goddess would be sending us a man soon? Or were you listening?" "I always listen to what Tara says," I replied with a deferring nod to our mataji. "But not even she knows the exact time the goddess will fulfill her promise." "That's true. But what if it's tomorrow? What if a man finds his way to our village and finds you looking the way you do? With your close cropped hair that makes you look like a boy, and those stupid sunglasses that hide your eyes, and the makeup that you refuse to wear. Do you think that man is going to be interested in you?" At this point I put down my pear and stared her in the face. "Since when have you become so concerned about my appearance? Surely you are beautiful enough to entice any man who comes wandering into our village. Why would you want me to change the way I look?" "Because your natural beauty is a threat to her," Ide snorted. "Astrid is jealous of you Francesca." "Oh, be quiet, Ide!" Astrid snapped. "I am not jealous. I just want Francesca to be beautiful." "She is beautiful just as she is," Ide replied, "without any help from you!" Instead of retorting, Astrid sneered at Ide and took a sip of rice wine. "I'm just trying to help," she said petulantly. "You can help," Chari said, waving her fork menacingly from across the table, "by shutting your mouth!" "That's enough!" Tara said suddenly. Everyone at the table looked in her direction at once. It was rare that the old woman ever raised her voice, but when she did, people fell silent. "We do not threaten our sisters," the mataji said to Chari. "And you," she continued, looking sternly at Astrid. "You are a vain and selfish girl. All you think about is yourself. But today is a sacred day. And you will refrain from making unwarranted criticisms about Francesca. As I am your spiritual leader, she is your Dolma, and you will show her the proper respect. Am I understood?" "Yes...yes, mataji," Astrid mumbled, her eyes avoiding Tara's intense gaze. "I meant no harm." "I am certain you did," Tara said in an unconciliatory tone. "For you, to be beautiful is not enough. You find joy in belittling others and that is offensive to the goddess. You will make penance this evening." "I will make penance," Astrid replied, already beginning to look penitential as she cast her eyes downward upon her folded hands. But I wasn't fooled by Astrid's performance. Our customs dictated that she must enter the vihara and sit for at least one hour in silent contemplation, asking forgiveness for her transgression. But I knew that her public display of repentance was merely a façade. Despite her beauty, she was the most insecure person in our village, and her reputation for denigrating others, which she had refined into an art form of its own, I found vastly repugnant. She might enter the vihara and say her prayers, but she would exit the sacred place with a soul as unrepentant as when she entered. As the celebration wore on many of the sisters, including myself, became intoxicated from drinking too much wine. I rarely drank liquor except for special occasions, and even then I limited my consumption to only a few cups. But the fact that our harvest had been so successful put everyone in an utterly joyous mood, and I allowed myself to be swept up in all the excitement. After many hours spent drinking and eating, I was quite inebriated. The next thing I knew, I was staring at a bunch of blurred faces through eyes made dim from imbibing too much rice wine. "What are you doing on the grass, Francesca?" someone asked me. I opened my eyes and saw an indistinct face looking down upon me. "Who are you?" "Who am I?" the voice replied mockingly. "Are you that drunk that you don't recognize your best friend?" The Good Kingdom "Chari?" I replied, slurring the word. "What happened?" "By the goddess, you are drunk!" As Chari helped me into my chair I thought I heard Astrid snicker. "You never could hold your liquor, Francesca." Tara looked at me concernedly. "You passed out from drinking too much wine," she said. "Are you all right my child?" "I think so," I replied, rubbing my face hard. From far away in the distance I heard the faint sound of someone screaming. At first I thought it was just the voice of one particularly drunken sister, but the constant urgency of the plea soon cut through the general cacophony like a knife. Others heard the voice too, and suddenly the entire crowd was thrown into a tumult. It was Karin, one of the girls who lived on the outskirts of the village nearest the treacherous mountain pass that leads down from the Shishma Pangma into our valley. She ran toward us followed by several other girls, all of them waving their hands in wild gesticulation. Being Christians, they did not celebrate the ritual of the goddess, their religious tradition forbidding them to take part in our ceremony. It soon became apparent what was causing all the excitement. "It's a man! A man!" Karin cried, as she ran straight toward me, struggling to catch her breath. The girl nearly knocked me out of my chair as she hurled her body into me, her face hot and flushed and dripping with sweat. The small group of girls who had followed close behind her were so overcome that they fell on the grass exhausted and out of breath. "By the goddess, what are you talking about?" I asked her. "What man?" "He's in the ravine!" she replied, gasping for breath. "He's dead I think." Tara stood up. "Are you sure you saw a man, Karin?" she asked the girl. "Maybe it was an animal that you saw." "No, holy mother," the girl replied. "It was a man. But he's not moving." "You're absolutely sure it was a man?" I asked her. "Yes, yes!" she replied impatiently. "Come see. I'll show you!" Everyone was in an uproar. The last men to appear in our village was my father and two other scientists in his expedition party, who had found their way here against all odds almost twenty years ago. To Tara the sudden appearance of a man was no accident. This was the sacred day of the goddess and this was her gift to us—at least that's what Tara and many others believed. For my part, I remained dubious. But if Karin was right, and it was truly a man whom she saw lying in the ravine, then we needed to act quickly. Tara tapped me on the shoulder. "This is the will of the goddess. Let the child lead you to him. Go." We gave the girl something to drink, and then she led me, Chari, Ide, and several other girls whom I had chosen to accompany us, to the place where the man had been spotted. We took along a stretcher, a canteen of water, some herbs, and some meager medical supplies that had been brought along on my father's expedition. The journey was less than two miles but it seemed we covered the distance in only a few minutes, running most of the way. The ravine had been formed ages ago by the crystal clear waters that flowed down from the precipitous heights of the stark Karakoram mountain range, which forms the western barrier of our valley. At some remote point in time the river had eroded the surrounding rock, creating a deep and narrow gorge that ran for several miles in an almost unbroken fashion through the fertile lowlands. It was at the base of the ravine that we first saw the body lying supine on a small outcropping of rock. Karin was right. It was indeed a man, but he was not dead. "See!" Karin cried, as we watched the man move his body slightly upon our arrival. "I told you it was a man!" He was young, probably no more than twenty-five years old, and dressed in a gray parka that covered most of his body. Next to him was a green-colored bag of some material I did not recognize, and strewn about him were various items that had fallen out of it. His head was still covered with a fur-lined hood and his snow boots were completely waterlogged. As we drew closer to him it was apparent that he had suffered from the effects of prolonged exposure to the cold and rarefied air. He extended his hand toward me and tried to speak, but just as suddenly let it fall to his side. He seemed to be in great agony. I took the canteen and had Chari and Ide slowly raise his head up so that I could give him some water. I kneeled down beside him and, as I removed his hood, all of us gasped at once. Protruding from the mass of jet-black hair was the face of the most handsome man I had ever seen. Despite all the hardship he had endured, and even though his body was wracked with pain, his face was beautiful, if such a word can be ascribed to a man. In all respects, he possessed the classical features of the mythical Adonis: a small aquiline nose, the nostrils symmetrical and delicate; a chin that was firm and well shaped; a generous mouth that revealed a set of white, perfect teeth; and a complexion devoid of any physical abnormality. But the most singular aspect of his appearance were his eyes, which were large and of the most intense, violet hue. He now lifted them up to me in silent supplication, as if trying to convey by feelings alone what his lips were unable to utter. "It's going to be all right," I said, trying to comfort him as I held the canteen to his mouth. He took a few sips of water and then slipped away into unconsciousness. "He doesn't appear to have any broken bones," Chari said to me, "at least not from what I can tell." "Let's get him onto the stretcher," I replied, getting to my feet. "Don't you think he's pretty," Karin said to me, taken as the rest of us were by the man's incredible good looks. "A man is not pretty," Ide said, correcting her. "He's handsome." Karin continued to stare at the prostrate form as the girls gently moved his body onto the stretcher. "I don't care what you say. I think he's pretty." The stretcher hardly proved suitable to accompany the man's six-foot frame, but with all eight of us carrying him, we were able to get him back to the village without too much difficulty. When the other women caught sight of what we were carrying they scrambled to get a better view of the unconscious man; fighting amongst themselves to be as close to him as possible. Audible exclamations of delight and astonishment greeted us as we stood at the head of a vanguard of spellbound women who followed us every step of the way toward the vihara where Tara now stood waiting patiently for us. The old woman looked down upon the man we held in our arms and smiled when she saw his face, directing us to carry him into the monastery. There were several beds already set up in the vihara itself, and with much effort we managed to get him onto one of them. We removed his parka, gloves, and boots and then removed the rest of his clothing, which was completely saturated. A crowd of women stood around him as we undressed him, gasping in sheer delight as more of his undergarments were removed, revealing a taught, muscular body whose perfect proportions reminded me of the statue of David that the great Italian artist Michelangelo had created many centuries ago. The girls tittered anxiously as I removed the man's underwear. He had been wearing a pair of black briefs with some man's name printed on the elastic rim—a certain Calvin Klein I believe it was—and as I slowly removed the wet cloth his penis sprang into view. It was an ample specimen that caused the crowd to coo with pleasure. Even Tara could not suppress her joy at seeing such an attractive-looking cock and laughed heartily as she reached down and fondled the flaccid member. "This is a good penis!" she remarked, examining it closely. "I would say about ten inches when erect. And the testicles are big and firm. The goddess has provided for us very well my children." I, along with the rest of the crowd, stood there gaping in awe at the beautiful man's naked body. Astrid wasted no time in taking over from Tara, running her tiny hands all over his genitals. "I've never seen anything so lovely," she said, devouring him with her eyes. "He's no more handsome than Francesca's father was," Chari noted, as she too let her hands gently caress the man's shoulders. Juliette agreed. "Yes, James Antonetti was a beauty indeed!" she said, puffing on her pipe. "The goddess is most generous to send us such handsome men!" As she said this she joined the others in letting her hands glide over the magnificent body. It was impossible to keep the women at bay. Everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the stricken man, and I was forced to keep him in his naked state until each person had had the chance to lay their hands upon him. It was Tara's wish that each woman touch the body in this fashion, in deference to the goddess. But I knew that the real motive, despite fulfilling their curiosity, was the need for physical confirmation that this man was indeed real and not an illusion, as well as to prepare them for the ritual that was soon to follow—the ancient ritual of the fertility goddess, Saraddevi. When each woman had done her obeisance to the goddess by affirming the fact that the man they had laid hands upon was a gift bestowed upon them by Tara herself, I covered the body with several woolen blankets and assigned a contingent of girls to keep watch at his bedside in alternating two-hour shifts. They were to alert me if there was any change in his condition. The crowd was reluctant to leave but Tara and I made it clear that the man needed to recover, and it was best that we let him sleep in peace. Even though the temperature was a mild 75 degrees, his body was showing signs of having suffered from prolonged exposure to the cold, and I thought it best to keep him as warm as possible. Beyond that, there was nothing more we could do except to let him rest. "Did you find any identification on him?" Tara asked me as we walked toward her lodge. "Nothing," I replied. "But he must have taken some provisions with him. I am assuming that he was part of an expedition and must have lost them along the way." "That is probably what happened. The Karakoram is a treacherous, unforgiving mountain. The high winds, severe cold, and scant air all take its toll on the human body. The only reason he survived is because the goddess willed it. I know you don't believe in her, but I can offer no other explanation for his survival." I had no desire to debate the metaphysical nature of her beliefs, but I had to admit that I could offer no plausible alternative theory. My own father had been found in a similar situation, but in his case, a knapsack was found alongside his unconscious body containing various personal effects, one of which was a cell phone. The phone never worked because the electronic signal could not pierce through the blanket of low-lying clouds that formed a perennial cover over the entire valley, scattering the sunlight into one giant diffused canopy through which nothing—not even very high frequency radio waves—could penetrate. The valley was also enclosed on all sides by high mountains that reflected the radio waves back toward the earth, further preventing the signal from getting through. I had often thought that if we had been able to make contact with the outside world, we could have enjoyed many of the technological benefits that the outsiders took for granted. But Tara had often warned me that the world from which my father had come was corrupt and evil in many ways, and that the goddess Tara meant to keep us forever protected from the life-negating influence of an earth dominated by brutal and rapacious men. "When he has recovered, he must be indoctrinated," the old woman said as we stopped at the entrance to her lodge. "He must be told the truth; the reason why he is here." I nodded my agreement. "I will have Chari and the others gather some Mandukya plants tomorrow. But we should wait until he is fully recovered before giving him..." At this point my voice trailed off as I remembered the ill effects that plant had produced in our men. "I know what you are thinking my child. I do not like the idea of giving him the potion. But it is our existence that is at stake." "So we're going to use him just as we did my father?" "So it has been with every man who has found his way here. It is the will of the goddess. We must not question it." She raised her bony hand to my face and caressed my cheek. I knew she understood my dismay at having to use an innocent man as a guinea pig, but her beliefs, unlike mine, were deeply held and allowed for no compromise. This man, whoever he was, would learn to accept his role in our society. He had no other choice. ************ I awoke at sunrise the next morning, having enjoyed a quiet and restful sleep. As soon as I had finished bathing, dressing, and having my breakfast, I walked up the long stairway to the vihara and saw that there was a small crowd of women standing outside the front entrance. When they saw me coming they moved aside and greeted me with furtive glances. "Why are you all standing around here?" I asked them. "Do you not have tasks that need to be done?" "We were concerned about the stranger," Elia replied, a pretty woman in her early fifties who never wasted an opportunity to be nosey. "Chari told us that he has not awoken once during the entire night." "Where is Chari now?" "Inside." "I want all of you to go away. There is nothing any of you can do for him except disturb him with all your silly chatter. When he is better I will let you know." With reluctance the women slowly withdrew, looking over their shoulders every few seconds to make sure that I was observing their progress down the stairs. Once the last of them had disappeared, I went inside and found Chari, Ide, and Astrid sitting by the stricken man's bedside conversing in soft tones. The other girls I had assigned to watch over him were gone. "I let them go," Chari said to me. "They were half asleep anyway." "How long have you been watching him?" I asked her. "Since about an hour ago. I don't think he has moved a muscle all night." I looked down at the man, his face godlike and radiant in the faint rays of the morning sun. I gently placed my hand over his brow to feel his temperature and found that his head was no longer hot. However his breathing remained shallow. "Isn't he beautiful?" Astrid cooed softly, staring at his handsome face. "Maybe he's a god." "I doubt that," I replied. "Tara and I believe he was probably part of an expedition and that he got lost in the mountains." "But Tara believes the goddess sent him to us—you don't." "No, I don't. But he's here and we have to care for him." "I'm sure Astrid would like to do more than just care for him," Ide laughed. "She can't take her eyes off him!" "And neither can you!" Astrid replied. "No girl in this village can keep her eyes off him except for Nola, and that's because she likes women." "Keep your voice down," I said to her. "In fact, why don't all of you go and tend to your chores. I will sit with him for a little while." Astrid responded with a sly grin. "Oh, I see. You want him all to yourself. Is that it?" "I want him to rest, and your big mouth is going to wake him up." "I don't want to go," she said defying me. "Get out of here Astrid. Right now!" She was about to protest but Chari gave her a threatening nod and pushed her toward the door. "All right, I'm going!" Astrid complained. "But I want to see him as soon as he wakes up!" "Let me know if you need me," Chari said as she guided the annoying girl out the door. Sometimes being the leader of a people can have its benefits, and this was clearly one time in which this was so. I never liked ordering people around, but sometimes it was necessary. My primary obligation, as Tara had never failed to remind me, was to help bring the stranger back to health. But I had to admit that I wanted to admire the manly work of beauty without having to share him with anyone else. Selfish of me perhaps, but that is one of the privileges of rank. I sat with him for several hours, examining every minute detail of his glorious physiognomy with my eyes. Just before noon he stirred and threw the blankets off his body, revealing his lean, muscular legs and sensuous backside. He began to mumble something and then cried out, but it was nothing more than incoherent babble. His eyes never opened once and I could tell that he was having a fitful sleep. I took a cool, wet towel and wiped the sweat from his face, then replaced the blankets. He seemed to quiet down then and I left him in the care of several girls and went home. For three days he remained in this condition until very early on the morning of the fourth day he awoke and asked for some food and water. It was Chari who had been with him at the time and she had come running to my lodge to announce the news. "Get up, Francesca!" she screamed as she ran into my bedroom. "Get up! He's awake!" As soon as I had dressed, we both ran up the stairs to the monastery where we were assailed by a gathering of our sisters who had been made aware of the stranger's recuperation. Ide was standing at the doorway as was Astrid, Juliette, and scores of other women mulling about talking loudly. As I burst through the door I suddenly slipped and skidded several feet until my body landed face down at the feet of our amused and befuddled Adonis. I looked up into his dreamy violet eyes and could feel my heart flutter. "Well, that's one way to make an impression!" he laughed as he offered me his hand. As he helped me to my feet I noticed that he was wearing his old clothes and looking none the worse for wear. "Thank you," I replied, unable to take my eyes off him. "Your friends have been very good to me. They provided me with food and water and gave me back my clothes." "Yes," I stammered. "I can see that." At that moment Tara entered the monastery looking very regal in her purple gown. Two of her attendants were with her followed by half the population of the village. She smiled and walked over to us with a swift gait, her arms outstretched. "Welcome to Swarga Loka!" she said to him, kissing him firmly on each cheek. "You are looking well! Have our sisters treated you kindly?" "Yes, yes, indeed!" he replied, somewhat overcome by all the sudden attention. "Who are you may I ask?" "My name is Tara. I am the servant of the goddess Tara and spiritual leader of the people of Swarga Loka. And this," she said pointing to me, "is Francesca, the chosen one. May I ask your name?" "Jonathan Francis Cooper," he replied. "I'm an American. I...I..." He suddenly grabbed his head in his hands and fell back onto the bed taking me with him. "What's wrong?" I asked him, trying to free myself from his grasp. "I don't know," he replied. "I should know. After all, I'm a doctor." "A doctor?" Chari asked. "As in 'medical' doctor?" "Yes, I'm a GP. You know, a general practitioner. I was with six other people. We were on an expedition to the Himalayan mountain range when we got caught in a blizzard and then the avalanche came and..." He threw his head back on the pillow and groaned. "You must get back into bed," I urged him. I turned to Chari. "Bring me some water." Chari quickly did as I asked and handed me a cup, which I then offered to him. He drank slowly, massaging his forehead as he did so. "I may have suffered a slight concussion," he said. "I don't suppose you have any aspirin?" "No, I'm sorry." "Do you have anything to handle the pain? Herbs, roots, some kind of plant extract?" Tara motioned to one of her assistants to remove something from a jar on the table. The girl did so and gave it to the doctor. The Good Kingdom "We have this," Tara said. "It is one of our traditional remedies for pain." The doctor studied the whitish substance and smiled. "This is white willow bark," he said. "It contains a chemical called salicin, which has been used for ages to treat all kinds of maladies. Aspirin is derived from this herb. It should do nicely." "We strip the bark from the young trees in the spring for use in our herbal medicines," I told him. "Let us prepare a tea for you." "You're most kind," he replied handing me the strip of bark. "I think I'll lie down here for a while if you don't mind." "Rest all you want," Tara said with genuine concern. "The questions can wait for another day." "Just one thing," he said to her. "Do you know what happened to my friends?" Tara turned to me, looking hesitant. Finally she said, "We must presume that they are no longer alive and that you are the only one who survived." I saw his eyes turn dark as he buried his face in his hands, moaning softly. At my insistence, everyone vacated the monastery with the exception of two girls whom I ordered to watch over him. I waited until he had drunk some of the tea and then I left him in the care of his attendants. It was indeed as the doctor had surmised. He had suffered a slight concussion and he spent the rest of the day recuperating. Early in the morning of the following day the girls who had been caring for him sent a messenger to my lodge to notify me that he was awake and feeling better. By the time I got to the vihara he was washed and dressed and eating breakfast on the veranda. He looked refreshed and full of energy. "How are you feeling today?" I asked him as I sat down beside him. "Much better, thank you," he replied. He shoved a piece of goat cheese in his mouth and chewed ravenously. "Forgive me, but I haven't eaten in a long time." "I'd say you haven't eaten for almost five days." He looked at me steadily as he ate, and when he finally swallowed he reached for a full cup of water and drank it down without stopping. "I have a lot of questions," he said wiping this mouth with the back of his hand. "First of all, who are you?" "Francesca Karin Aadland Romanetti," I replied. "It's nice to meet you Jonathan Francis Cooper, M.D." I extended my hand and he shook it vigorously. "That's a mouthful," he said genially. "How did you know my name?" "You told us yesterday. Don't you remember?" "I'm afraid I don't. In fact, I don't seem to recall much of anything except the name of this place—Swarga Loka is it not?" "Yes. In English it means the 'good kingdom'. He nodded. "I would certainly call it that. And that old woman...her name was...Tara?" "She is our holy mother—our mataji." "And who was that other girl—you know, the beautiful one...blonde, blue eyes...big..." He indicated by the posture of his hands in front of his chest what he wanted to convey. "Breasts?" I said, finishing his thought. "Yes," he smiled. "She couldn't seem to keep her hands off me." I laughed. "That was Astrid. I must apologize for her. She can be annoying sometimes." No, no, it's quite all right. But I must admit that I felt a little bit like a zoo specimen." "You have to forgive my sisters. They...we...haven't seen a man in a very long time—especially a handsome man like yourself. They were just curious." "Speaking of men, I haven't seen any. Where are they?" "There are no men here," I replied, knowing that I would be inviting further inquiries. "My father was the last man to live in this village and he died several years ago." He stopped eating and took a moment to look around as if to verify my statement. "Are you telling me that there are no men at all in your village?" "We are a society of women. It's going to take some time to explain." "I'm listening." "No, not now. But we are having a celebration today and the entire village will be at the town square. I can explain everything to you then. I'm sorry, but I can say no more." He shook his head and reached for a piece of fruit. "Okay. I guess I can wait. May I ask what it is you are celebrating?" "Your arrival," I replied. "Really? That's very gracious of you. But I wouldn't go to any trouble on my account. I don't plan on staying here very long." "Someone will come for you at midday," I said, choosing not to continue the conversation further. "You'll be introduced to the people formally and then we will take you on a tour of our village. Please remain here until my sisters come for you. I have to go now." As I stood up he reached out and grabbed my arm. "Tell me," he said. "Is there any chance that my friends could still be alive?" "It's very doubtful. Tara believes that the only reason you survived is because the goddess was protecting you." "And what do you believe?" "I think you were lucky—very lucky." He let go of my arm and smiled warmly. I wanted to hold him in my arms at that moment and tell him how sorry I was about his friends, about how sorry I was that he could never go back to the world he left behind. But of course I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to destroy his hopes, not yet. "I want to meet your people. But I must get back to civilization. Will you help me?" "We will discuss all that this afternoon. Be patient." Within hours of my taking leave of our new guest, the town square was bustling with activity. Someone joked that the doctor's arrival was fortuitous in that the celebration of the goddess a few days before had served to prepare for the current festivities. From Tara's point of view everything was going according to plan; that plan reflecting the divine machinations of the goddess. Most people seemed to share her view. To me however, the doctor's arrival was pure happenstance. That he was handsome was a fringe benefit, one that would serve as a strong inducement for our people to engage in sex with him. As noon approached, I sent for the stranger. The square and surrounding streets were filled with people, all anxious to see our newest resident in the flesh. The tables were strewn with all varieties of food and drink to celebrate his arrival. Tara, sitting at the head of the main table, looked regal in her purple robe, laughing and talking with several of the villagers. Even Chari, who usually did not enjoy these ritualistic functions, had to admit that the prurient nature of the affair was something she found very enticing. After all, it was the will of the goddess that Jonathan Cooper's body was now ours to do with as we saw fit. And that was to surrender every drop of his living seed to us so that our society could endure. "Here they come!" Astrid shrieked as the doctor, surrounded by a group of excited girls, walked into the square preceded by his two attendants. At my request he had agreed to be dressed in a long, flowing white robe and sandals. It was similar in style to the cotton robes that most of us wore, but on his tall frame it made him look majestic. As he passed through the crowd of gawking women, he smiled and greeted them with open arms. They threw themselves at him as if beseeching the blessing of a god; such was the power of his masculine beauty. He was led to the main table where, after being greeted with much ostentation by Tara, me, and several others, took his seat at the old woman's left, while I sat on her right. Chari, Ide, Juliette, and Astrid sat at their usual places while a bevy of girls surrounded us on all sides, all wanting to touch our guest and offer words of welcome. "There will be plenty of time for all of you to meet and talk to Dr. Cooper," I shouted at the crowd that was now pressing upon us from every side. "Please go and sit down. Let us give thanks to Tara for the wonderful blessing she has bestowed upon us." As I said this, Tara rose from her seat and made a few hand motions, signifying a universal blessing upon all of us. "Let the will of the goddess by obeyed," she said solemnly and then sat down. The enervated crowd slowly moved away from the beleaguered doctor, their enthusiasm quelled momentarily with the promise of more exciting things to come. Tara and I refused to discuss anything related to the doctor's expressed desire to leave the village until dinner was finished. We focused the conversation on the history of our people and on other pleasant topics to keep him diverted from our true intentions. Through it all I felt like a spider spinning a wicked web of deceit, saying anything that might lure him into a false sense of security, and hating myself for my blatant disingenuousness. I remembered how my own father had been similarly deceived; the pretense giving way eventually to a placid acceptance that he would never leave Swarga Loka; that he would spend his remaining days there to serve as a sexual plaything for the women of the village. As I watched the handsome doctor make conversation with Astrid, I felt that I was committing the same terrible crime against him, and no matter what justification I sought, no matter what comfort I might find in the beliefs of our people, nothing could assuage the guilt I felt at the duplicity of it all—that I was betraying the trust of an innocent man. "You don't look very happy, Francesca," Chari said to me. "What's wrong with you?" "I was just thinking about my father," I replied. "I always wondered if he was truly happy living here with us." "He seemed to be." "At first he wasn't. I know he missed his friends and family. It took him a long time to adjust to our way of life." "Yes, it did. But you know he would have died if had tried to leave here. He knew it too. Tara brings the men to us, but she does not let them leave." "And she does not let them live long either." "The ways of the goddess are sometimes difficult to understand, but we must obey." As much as I loved my best friend I knew that she and I would never see eye to eye on religious matters. It was pointless for me to try to explain to her, with my meager understanding of the science my father had taught me, that there were rational explanations for events glibly assigned to the handiwork of some invisible deity. That there was such a thing as empirical evidence obtained via a process called the "scientific method," which allowed human beings to know and understand the natural world. And that physical laws existed independently of the vagaries of human superstitions and were antecedent to them would forever remain beyond her grasp. Few of my sisters believed as I did because my belief offered no solace for the unpredictability of the universe. I believe they took comfort in the knowledge that there was a power greater than themselves that sought to protect and keep them safe from the intractable, volatile, often brutal forces that governed all of creation. And who was I to deny them that comfort? My own views, like theirs, had to be held up to scrutiny. And who could say which of our beliefs was the correct one? In the absence of ultimate truth, every impulse of humankind was just guesswork. "Did you put the extract of the Mandukya plant in his food?" I asked her. "Yes," she replied. "In a few hours he will begin to feel its effects." I sighed heavily. "I wish there were another way to propagate our race besides using this dangerous drug." "I admit that it's a powerful aphrodisiac, but I wouldn't call it dangerous." "You wouldn't? Then why do all the men who have used it die young? My father was only 42 years old when he died." "I don't know, Francesca. All I know is that we're going to need his sperm, and lots of it, if we are going to survive." At that point I preempted our conversation to turn my attention to the doctor, who was being questioned by Ide. "So, why don't you tell us about yourself, Dr. Cooper," she began, watching him eat his food with gusto. "Please, call me Jonathan," he replied between bites. "You told one of the girls earlier that you were from America?" "Yes. My home town is called Philadelphia, the capital city in the state of Pennsylvania." "We know about America," Astrid said. "Francesca's father told us about it." "Your father was an explorer?" Jonathan asked, turning to me. "He was a scientist," I replied. "He was born in Rome but moved to America when he was accepted into...ah, what it's called now...oh yes, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology." "Sure," he said smiling. "MIT. Great school." "He taught me and everyone else here who cared to listen, all about science and the natural world. "I see. And you said that he is no longer alive?" "He died when I was fifteen. That was three years ago." "I'm sorry." "But he left us a wonderful legacy. His knowledge is now part of our culture. You'd be surprised how much we know about the world outside Swarga Loka." "The thirst for knowledge seems to be a universal constant. Even here in your idyllic little valley I am gratified to see that curiosity is not dead." "But how did you end up coming here?" Juliette asked him. He shrugged. "Curiosity, what else? I wanted to learn more about the world and the Himalayas have always fascinated me. When my friends invited me on the expedition I couldn't turn it down. Little did I know that they would all die and that I would be the only one to survive." "You survived because the goddess Tara meant you to survive," Chari said. "That may very well be true," he replied. "But I believe I was saved because I was standing twenty meters behind them. It saddens me greatly that I will never see them again." For a few moments we sat together in silence, as if acknowledging by our collective quietude the sorrow he must have felt at losing his friends to the demons of the mountain. He continued to eat heartily, as if making up for all the days he had taken no food. After he had drunk some water, he looked up and stared intently into my eyes. "The last time we spoke you told me that there are no men here in the village. Why is that?" I explained to him that no male child had ever been born to a woman of Swarga Loka. "That is very strange indeed," he said, looking puzzled. "But you need men to keep your society going. How do you do that?" "Every so many years the goddess sends us a man, just as she sent you," Ide told him. Jonathan laughed. "Are you saying that you are totally reliant upon your goddess to provide you with men?" "It has worked for over three centuries." "I'll be damned," he said. "And you're absolutely sure that none of the women ever gave birth to a male child in all that time?" "Yes. And we have records going back to the time when our Scandinavian ancestors first settled this valley. Ask Francesca. She's the studious one." I could see that he was troubled by this apparently metaphysical revelation. For a man of science it must have confused him greatly—a mystery that demanded to be solved. "There's got to be a reason—a logical, scientific reason to explain it," he said, pondering the seeming strangeness of our tale. After dinner was finished, Tara had all the tables removed, leaving a large area of open space in which Jonathan found himself in the center. Four hundred women stood shoulder-to-shoulder forming a wall of flesh around the edge of the square, their eyes focused intently upon the man in the middle. At first he looked awkward standing there by himself while the audience stood and gaped at him, but he accepted his situation with equanimity, as befitted the temperament of a man of science. I saw him speaking to Astrid, who made no attempt to hide from him her obvious sexual interest. Ide and Juliette also played their little feminine games with his mind, touching his body whenever they had a chance and lusting after him openly. The only thing that prevented the entire crowd from enveloping him all at once was Tara herself. She, who spoke for the living goddess, her own namesake, was the spiritual buffer between the doctor and the imminent sexual assault that would have resulted had she not been there to preside over the ceremony. Her will was inviolable and sacrosanct. To disobey would be an act of utter reprobation with the offender forever being regarded with dishonor. At the old woman's urging, the crowd at last calmed down sufficiently for the indoctrination to begin. I stood in the center next to the doctor, with Tara, Chari, and Ide standing close by. We were effectively hemmed in on four sides by swarms of curious, amorous, and impatient females. I felt as if I had led a lamb to the slaughter. "This man, whose name is Jonathan Francis Cooper," Tara began addressing her audience, "has been brought to us as a gift from our goddess Tara—she of the pious and devout spirit. We are here today to indoctrinate this man into our society. He will learn what is expected of him and how to behave in our presence." Jonathan looked askance at the old woman. "Pardon me. What do mean by 'indoctrinate'?" "Every man who finds his way to our village must be taught our laws and rituals," Tara said solemnly. In that moment I saw in his eyes the first glimmer of a deeper understanding that was only now beginning to manifest itself in his conscious mind. Slowly the light of a terrible truth began to illuminate every aspect of his being. He turned to me with a painfully inquisitive look while I stood there impassively, forbidden to offer him any explanation. "I am not interested in your laws and rituals," he said to Tara. "And I have no intention of becoming part of your society. All I want to do is to go home." Some of the women, including Tara, snickered at this, but he didn't seem to find it very amusing. "I don't see anything funny about it," he said, dismayed. "Why are you laughing?" "You cannot leave here," Tara said, regaining her composure. "No one has ever left here and lived with the exception of one man. Everyone else who had tried to do so, whether man or woman, has met with death." "That may be," he replied. "But I have friends and family waiting for me back home. It's where I belong and I am prepared to take my chances." "I think the goddess has made it clear to us that Swarga Loka is where you belong." He frowned. "I don't recognize your goddess. And what you want is of no concern to me. Will you help me to leave this place or will you not?" For a moment there was a prolonged silence that greeted his words. No one had ever spoken to Tara in such a bold fashion. Not even my father had shown such audacity. "Forgive him, mataji," I said to Tara. "He is a stranger and not accustomed to our ways." "There is no need to defend him, my child," Tara replied, her demeanor remaining calm yet imperious. "He will learn to obey or he will be punished. There is no other way." He took a step toward her, ostensibly to intimidate her by his large frame, but she avoided the confrontation by summoning several sisters to force their way between her and the distressed doctor. "Look Tara, mataji, or whatever you are called," he said impatiently. "I appreciate what you did for me and I am grateful for your help. But I cannot, I will not, remain here. You can't coerce me. I have a right to determine my own destiny and I will die before I submit to your will or the will of your goddess." "But you will submit," she replied, her voice filled with emotion. "You will submit because you—your mind, body, and soul—belong to me now, and to all the sisters you see standing around you. You are the gift brought to us by our goddess Tara. The man whose seed will fertilize the women of Swarga Loka so that our line can continue." Jonathan took a step back as if to gain a better perspective of his frail, but determined adversary. "You must be out of your mind if you think that I'm going to offer myself as a willing sacrifice to keep you and your Amazons alive. I have other goals for my life besides acting as a bull for your stable of heifers."