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Pornopolis: The Journey Ch. 01

By: Christian Black



I don't know how things are done in your village, but this is how they are done in mine.

Nineteen is a sacred number. Nineteen deities are painted on the walls of the holy cavern; nine Gods, nine Goddesses, and one blessed Androgyne. Nineteen moon-cycles are in each ring of the sun. There are nineteen animal spirits to which we can appeal for guidance and nineteen Great Laws passed down to us by our ancestors.

Most importantly, the age of nineteen is when a boy is supposed a man and a girl is supposed a woman. Before nineteen, we are not allowed to fuck. Fucking is the great business of life. It is how we speak to the Gods. It is what builds the bonds of love which holds us together as a people. It is the all-powerful force which creates new life. Before nineteen, it is believed that a young person does not possess the wisdom to master such a great power. Before nineteen, we must do the whacky-whack three times a day to dissipate the sacred energy so it does not consume our souls.

The day a young person becomes nineteen is a day of great celebration for the entire village, and a day of great importance in the young person's life. I was very nervous the day before mine, and my friends and family did nothing to allay my fears.

My good friend Lame Deer turned nineteen just a few moons before I did. He told me that he was forced to walk a thousand miles north to the Great Blasted Desert, to bury his most prized possession in its sands. Of course, his most prized possession was the knife given to him by his father, and he was using it to whittle a stick even as he told me this. So I think he may have been lying.

"You must suck the daddles of every man in the village, and swallow all their bitter spunk," my sister Onion Patch told me. She was but twenty, and already had twin babbies suckling at her tatty nips. "If you vomit, you fail the test and must wait another nineteen years." I think this one was a lie as well.

But my cousin Fell-From-the-Sky was not prone to lies. He was a teacher of children and a very serious man. He said I was to be fucked in the bummy by the Chief Father, and that the Chief Father's daddle was as big as an ordinary man's arm. I knew that much was true because the Chief Father seldom bothered with a loin-covering, and his jewel-adorned daddle dangled past his knees. I had never seen it in its angered state, but my imagination shivered at the thought of that monster crawling into my tight bummy-hole.

So the night before my nineteen was filled with frightful dreams, but ended all too quickly. I was awoken before dawn by the gentle kisses of my mother and a clout on the head by my father. They dragged me from my bed and sent me off to the hut on the river's edge, where I was to be prepared for the ceremony.

Five beautiful maidens, the fairest unmarried women in the village, were waiting for me. Among them was the most beautiful of them all- Dawn's First Light, she of the green-tinged eyes and the perfect round tatties which made one wish to lay his head upon them like soft pillows which would bring the sweetest dreams. Laughing and smiling, but not saying a word, the women stripped me of my bedclothes and bathed me in warm perfumed water. It was wonderful to be scrubbed and massaged by these fair young women in their thin, short ceremonial robes which scarcely covered their bodies. My daddle was already standing at attention even before I was made to drink the sacred brew. The women pointed and laughed and made whispered jokes. The oldest among them, a distant cousin of mine named Mossy Rock, dried me with soft cloths and made very sure my daddle and its dangling sac were quite dry.

Then the sacred brew was brought to me in its ancient stone chalice. Dawn's First Light held my arms and Mossy Rock held my nose as a third woman poured the brew into my mouth. This was the first taste I had of the Semen of the Gods and it was every bit as bitter as I had been told. Foul and thick and slimy, it coursed down my throat past my appalled tongue, tasting like every rotten thing from the jungle floor mixed with stomach bile. It had an aftertaste like something sucked from a dead dog's bummy. 

I knew a little of its ingredients. My mother was the village's brewmaster and I had helped her prepare it many times. The potion contained blue mushrooms gathered from the Valley of the Rats, buttons harvested from the Tatty Cactus in the Great Blasted Desert, venom milked from the rare Night Snake, seeds from Dawn Star flowers and various Poppies, flowery buds from the Ganji plant, leaves of the Koka, a twist of the Vine of the Dead, and a few healthy squirts of Tree Monkey spunk. (Mother had always given me the unenviable task of stroking the monkeys until they spurted. They clawed and bit at first, but became embarrassingly attached to me afterward.) There were also a few secret ingredients which Mother had never allowed me to see.

I was forced to drink the entire contents of the chalice. The women politely averted their eyes while I vomited what felt like my entire stomach out. Then my mouth was gently wiped and I was given sweet water flavored with mint leaves to wash the foul taste away.

The preparations continued. I was completely shorn by their careful scraping blades. The light soft fuzz on my cheeks was shaved away for the first time. The hair on my head, uncut since birth and hanging almost to my waist, was cut away and my scalp was made bare. The hair on my legs and under my arms, gone. Even my proud kinky daddle-hairs were removed. I was hairless as a babe, symbolizing my rebirth as an adult.

My tender shaved skin was soothed with cooling creams and then my entire body was anointed with oils and the smoke of fragrant burning powders.

By now the first effects of the wicked brew were beginning to come on. My eyes felt as hard and as faceted as jewels, and I began to see crawling brown vines at the edges of my vision. The vines whispered in their soft windy language of the tricks and treats they were planning to subject me to over the course of this long day and night. But the most remarkable initial effect of the brew was what it had done to my daddle. It stood fuller and prouder, more hard and angry, than it had ever been in my life.

My foreskin had been cut away in another (much less pleasant) ritual only a year before. The bulbous mushroom head bulged and seemed to emit a dull purplish glow. The staff had become so hard and swollen that it curved back in on itself in a sickle-shape, pointing at my navel. I was not used it to seeing it all bald and naked and hairless, either, and this only made it seem larger. Its tiny mouth curved into a grin and the lips moved as if speaking. I could not hear the words it said yet, but knew it would only be a matter of time before I could. 

It throbbed with sensations too exquisite to be called pain. The maidens gazed upon its glory with wide eyes and tongue-moistened lips, but they were not allowed to touch or to taste it yet. Except for the elder maiden, my cousin, who was given the task of painting it with dark brown dye. Intricate patterns of spirals and vines and tiny animal totems. Stars and flowers and whirling mandalas. The brew in my inflamed blood magnified each stroke of her brush into shivering vibrations which communicated the sacred meanings of the patterns she drew right into the roots of my soul. It took her nearly an hour to complete and I was bidden to remain still the entire time. 

When she was finished, she and the other women blew upon the dye to dry it. The gentle breeze stroked me with indescribable delicacy and my skin could taste the perfumes of their breath. Then the base of my proud staff was encircled with smooth jeweled rings and tight bands of sacred metal. 

I was ready. My head full of stars and eyes and jewels and birds, I was led to the first station of my trial.

Everyone in the village was waiting for me in the center circle. As they all watched, I was tied to the great fruit tree which contained our village's protector spirit, Noj. My arms were stretched out onto his branches and bound to them with leather straps. The sacred pose known to the elders as "cruciform." A cloth was wrapped about my eyes so I could see only the light which came from within my soul.

I had witnessed this portion of the ritual many times as a child, and so I knew what was happening. Several people of age from the village, chosen by lot, would kneel before me in turn. Each one would suck my daddle for the duration of nineteen beats of a drum. The one who managed to coax my seed and swallow it would be blessed with good fortune and fertility for the entire sun-cycle to come.

Though I could not see, I could easily tell the identity of each person who sucked me. My blind eyes saw only the cosmic workings of sky and earth, but my daddle could see even if my eyes could not, and it could taste things as well.

First was Jewel Eyes, a woman who had reached nineteen just one moon before me. Her lips moved hot and fast upon my tattooed daddle, sucking eagerly, hoping to bring me off fast before anyone else could. I smiled at her bravado, but did not reward it. To spurt for the first one would bring bad fortune instead of good. Next was Old Green Hands, the keeper of the village gardens. His wise toothless mouth tasted like wood-smoke and he puffed on me as if I was a Ganji stick. Then came Devil Woman, so named because she had been raped by a demon when she was just a girl, which had made her an Idiot. She sucked me like a machine, efficiently but without passion. I considered giving her my seed, in the hopes that my blessing would help to counteract the curse of the demon. Before I could muster the energy to expel my spunk, though, the nineteenth drum beat sounded and she was replaced by the laughing breath of Rooster Who Lives as a Hen.

And so it went for a very long time until finally the eighteenth person, Black Oak, finished with his attempt and stood up, disappointed as the others had been. I could sense the crowd's excitement. To spurt off on the nineteenth drumbeat of the nineteenth supplicant was considered a very powerful blessing indeed. Good fortune and fertility would not be for the swallower alone, but for the entire village. 

The nineteenth person knelt before me. As soon as her lips slid past the glowing crown of my daddle-head, I could tell it was Dawn's First Light. For years I had watched her bummy and her tatties and her soft sweet mouth and longed for the day when I would come of age. And now that day had come and Dawn's First Light was on her knees slurping at my throbbing knob. Her tongue traced lines over the sensitive network of painted designs, navigating them like rivers inside her mouth. She took me into her throat and sang a humming song of prayer, her pearly white teeth clamping upon the metal rings at the base of my daddle. The vibrations traveled into the roots of the tree growing from my center. Deep inside my soul, a million seeds were clustered together like a million stars in deepest space. At the insistent command from the mouth of Dawn's First Light, the cluster exploded. I felt it go with an ecstatic agony, a great explosion that was like birth and death and re-birth, all at once. A huge crashing bang which sent the stars flying into the corners of my soul, where they would create new galaxies of light. The stars bled from the head of my daddle into the eager mouth of Dawn's First Light.

She swallowed the first few spurts, but the raging flow soon grew too great for her. She fell back as my starry spunk rained over her face and tatties. The crowd let out a roaring cheer and still I was shooting stars and seeds into the air. They fell to the ground like blessed rain, making the soil fertile. In my mind I could see the flowers which would grow from the seeds I had planted in the ground. And still the flow did not abate. I spurted and spurted and spurted. I was too overwhelmed by rapture to count, but I would not have been surprised to learn I had spurted exactly nineteen times. 

Dawn's First Light tore the cloth from my eyes and kissed me with a mouth full of my own stars. On her lips they tasted of the Wicked Brew I had consumed, but now I relished its bitter flavor.

Then she turned to the crowd and allowed her eleven sisters to lick my seed from her face and neck and chest and tatties. There was much jubilation. I had done well. Two men came and unbound my arms. I fell to the base of the tree, exhausted, but they lifted me up and carried me off.

Gods help me, that was only the first station of four.

On most days, after I do the whacky-whack and spurt off, my daddle withers and I am relieved. But the Wicked Brew in my blood and the tight rings around my daddle not only kept it hard, they seemed to be making it grow even harder. It curved back even more, like my naval was a mamoose that it wanted to fuck.

The men carried me and dropped me inside the door of the Chief Father's hut. I had been too dazed to realize where they were taking me, but now I remembered what Fell-From-the-Sky had told me and I became afraid. 

The Chief Father seemed to read my mind. Lounging on his soft couch beside a fire, despite it being the middle of a hot day, he called to me in his jolly, booming voice: "Do not be afraid, my son. Come closer."

I timidly got to my feet and stepped into his hut. When I got closer I saw that he was naked, idly toying with his massive daddle, stroking it like a beloved pet python. Adding to my astonishment and anxiety, he had painted it a bright blue for this occasion.

The Chief Father was not yet an old man, but he was well past the summer of his life, and entering the autumn years. His great black mane was streaked with gray and was thinning on top. His eyes were intense and serious, but mouth was jolly and round. Despite the great size of his masculine parts, there was something feminine about him as well. A roundness to his body, a softness to his face. He was fastidious about his appearance, and had trimmed the hair of his body into neat little bushes about his daddle and under his arms. He also appeared to have stained his lips with berry-juice, the way the women sometimes did.

I knelt before his couch and humbly lowered my head. He laughed at my submission. "Relax, young one," he said. "Come, sit beside me."

I sat beside him on the couch. My brew-heightened senses registered his scent like something blown in on a sea-breeze, only hot instead of cold. The heat seemed not to be coming from the fire, but from his skin.

"I understand you did quite well with your first station," he said. "Congratulations. You have bestowed a great blessing upon us, and you have duly impressed Dawn's First Light. She has yet to select a mate, you know. You would make her a fine husband."

My heart leapt at that, but I simply said: "Thank you, Chief Father."

"But now it is time for your second station. Do you know what that entails?"

"I think so, Chief Father."

"And yet you are still afraid. Why?"

I glanced down at his gigantic blue python, the obvious source of my fear.

The Chief Father chuckled. "Relations between a man and a woman are sacred because in this way we petition the Gods to create new life," he said. "But relations between men, and between women, are of equal importance. The daddle and the mamoose are only part of the shells which cover us. Within, we are all the same. Only by fucking both men and women can we find balance between the male and female spirits which reside within each of us."

I nodded. I knew that much from lessons at school. Still, it was one thing to hear those words and quite another to allow someone to put their huge daddle-wanger up your tiny little bummy-hole.

"Will it hurt?" I asked.

"Pain and pleasure are two edges of the same blade," he answered.

This did not reassure me much. The Chief Father saw me frown and laughed loudly. "Do not worry, son. It will not hurt. It will bring you pleasure you have never known. Here, fetch me that piece of fruit from the table there."

I brought him the pink-skinned fruit. He split it open with his thumbs, revealing the juicy flesh inside, which was dotted with large black seeds.

"Do you know what this fruit is called?" he asked.

"It's called a cunny-fruit," I answered.

"Do you know why?"

"Because it smells and tastes like a woman."

He chuckled. "Yes, but that is not all. This fruit will turn your bummy-hole into a mamoose. It will allow you to experience fucking as a woman does. Get on your hands and knees."

Shaking a little despite his reassurances, I rolled over and surrendered my bummy to the Chief Father. He slathered my back-side with the cool, thick juice of the fruit. All around the outside at first, and then working it into my bummy with one of his fat fingers. I gasped a little as he penetrated me, but the juices were so slick and wet his finger slid in easily. It didn't hurt, but the sensation was so new and different I couldn't say yet if it was pleasing.

"Women are blessed with a boundless fountain of lubricating fluid," the Chief Father said as he worked on me back there. "It is one of the four sacred essences. Unfortunately, men must make do with the juices of the fruit."

He was working more and more of the stuff up into me, using two fingers now. There was definitely some heat building, a strange pleasure. I moaned a little.

"The fruit will also relax your muscles, to make them open and receptive. And that is not all. Do you know what a woman's pearly nub is?"

"I think so." He was thrusting his fingers in and out of me now and it was becoming difficult to speak.

"A woman's pearly nub allows her to experience much more pleasure than a man's daddle allows him. But men have a pearly nub, too. It is here."

He touched something inside me which sent vibratory shocks up and down every nerve ending in my body. I cried out loud.

"The seeds of the fruit adhere to the skin around your bummy hole and to the walls inside. Each one becomes a pearly nub. Each one will buzz with pleasure."

He took a bite of the fruit and chewed away the flesh around the seed. Then he bent over and pushed the seed up my bummy with his tongue. The thing began to buzz almost immediately, like he had stuck a cicada up inside me. Then he put another seed inside me. And another. And another. The buzzing became a chorus. They sang in a harmony that was not sound but sensation.

There were at least five or six of the buzzing pearly seeds affixed to me now. The Chief Father set the fruit aside. He kissed and licked and sucked my sopping seeded bummy. 

I had often spied on my sister as she laid with her many lovers, and she always bade them to eat her mamoose. Onion Patch would recline on her back with her legs spread wide while the man or the woman she was with pleasured her. She would moan and grunt, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming. I had always supposed she was exaggerating her own pleasure for the sake of her lovers, Onion Patch being a person of dramatic inclinations. Now I knew she was not exaggerating. Now I knew what she what she was feeling. 

The Chief Father's masterful tongue and lips played upon me most exquisitely, alternating firm and gentle, slow and fast. He began to hum the tune of an old sacred song and I pushed my bummy back to press it closer upon his loving mouth.

The Wicked Brew in my blood allowed me to forget that I was a man. I had become, for the moment, a woman. The female spirit inside me arose to the surface and delighted herself with the Chief Father's deep soul kisses. I reached a climax as a woman does, without spurting, keeping it inside instead of releasing it into the void. And like a woman, my climax only made me hungry for more.

I grew impatient with his mouth. I needed more. I needed his daddle. I needed to be fucked.


Pornopolis: The Journey Ch. 01



He lifted his head and stood on the floor beside the couch.

"Are you ready, woman?" he asked.

"Yes, Chief Father," I said. "Yes please. Fuck me. Fuck me hard." 

He stood up behind me. Grasping his blue python by the neck, he guided it into my bummy-hole. It slid in like silk. Like honey. Like water upon stones. He fit inside me perfectly, like my bummy had been made by the Gods for the sole purpose of accepting his great daddle. He slid it in, and then out again, rubbing against the buzzing cunny-fruit seeds inside me and my own man-pearl, which had never been touched before today. I cried out the name of one of the nineteen Gods, I do not remember which.  

He plunged in again and again, deeper and deeper, each fresh stroke touching me in a new place. Impossible as it seemed to me, his daddle grew harder and fatter as he fucked me. It filled me up and stretched me out. Inside me, it sang songs sung by my ancestors which I had never heard with my ears but which I knew from dreams. 

He fucked me hard to erase my sins. He fucked me soft to reward my goodness. He fucked me fast to make me scream. He fucked me slow to make me purr. 

Deep inside, touching the very center of my being, his daddle-head droned. The Chief Father breathed hard and made sounds of kingly pleasure. I knew it was time. I wrapped myself tightly about him and prepared to accept the blessing of his seed. 

He spurted like the coming of the monsoons. I accepted it like the parched summer earth swallows the moisture, soaking it up inside and not wasting a drop. In that glorious moment, I had become the earth and he had become the storm. I knew how a woman must feel when a man rains his blessed seed inside her. For a moment, I could even believe that I was fertile and that together the Chief Father and I had created a life together. That thought was enough to send me over the edge. My daddle spurted too, soaking the Chief Father's couch with my own sticky rain.

Then I came back to myself and realized I was not a woman who possessed the Great Power of making life. I was just a boy who had been fucked up the bummy-hole, and who had made a hell of a mess all over his elder's furniture.

The Chief Father withdrew from me, chuckling.

"Very good, my son." He gave my back-side an affectionate pat. 

"I have soiled your couch," I spoke with shame.

"As have many before you," he said. "That couch bears the stains of nineteen times nineteen boys who have become women at the point of my daddle. Now go, woman, and become a man."

I tried to stand but my legs were too unsteady. Laughing, the Chef Father clapped his hands and called for the men waiting outside to come in and carry me away.

I was lifted up by the arms and, my bummy-hole oozing the seeds of the Chief Father, carried back out into the sun. A cheer went up from the crowd, congratulating me on making it halfway through the stations which would make me a man.

Ye Gods, only halfway through.

The men carried me to the hut of the Chief Mother. 

"My son, my son," she sang. "Come here and love me."

The Chief Mother had held her position much longer than the Chief Father had. She was an old woman who slept most of the time, dreaming powerful dreams about the Fates of our people, her Dream Body flying all around the world to gain wisdom. It is said she had taken the virginities of a thousand boys, and had baptized an equal number of girls with the holy waters of her mamoose. 

The old naked woman took me by the hand and led me to her bed-chamber. "You are nearly done," she smiled. "Nearly a man. Kiss me once. I wish to taste the last kiss of a child."

She threw her arms around my neck and kissed me with a toothless mouth, as playfully and passionately as any young girl. Her breath tasted of cocoa beans, which I knew she loved to suck. We kissed for a long time and by the time we were done, I was laughing as she was. The Chief Father had filled me with awe and submission. The Chief Mother's kissing had filled me with light and joy.

She seemed to read my thoughts.

"The Chief Father is a great man," she said. "But he is something of a bore, even if he does have the daddle of a God. I will not weary you with words. Lie beside me and let my body speak to yours."

She lied down in her soft bed and stretched her body out, offering it up to me. I climbed in bed beside her and began to kiss her all over. Her soft wrinkled skin tasted like almonds. Painted all over her body were a thousand tattoos, the story of her long life which was also the story of our village and of the universe itself.

Upon her old shapeless tatties was a picture of the Fires which had come from the sky, destroying the World Previous and creating the World Anew. I traced the bright orange flames and found them searing hot beneath my tongue. 

I took one of her shriveled brown nipples in my mouth and was shocked to find it dripping with milk. Despite her age, her milk was fresh and sweet. I drank it as greedily as an infant, sucking the precious sacred essence, swallowing her nectar as she stroked my head. Selflessly, she allowed me to drink until both wells were dry and only then did she push my head down.

I kissed her furrowed belly, which bore a picture of a serpent swallowing its own tail. Then I kissed her wrinkly naval, tasting the sweetness of her sweat, and traced my tongue down through her nearly hairless pubis into the slitted divide of her ancient mamoose. She laughed again, joyfully, like a tickled baby. Her mamoose tasted like a liquor made from fermented nut-meats, and was just as intoxicating. As I lapped her, the Chief Mother squirmed and wriggled, giggling with fun. She was as girlish as a virgin.

The Chief Mother climaxed with my tongue buried as deep in her as it would go. She flooded my throat with her bittersweet juices, laughing so hard I could tell her sides were aching.

"Hoo," she laughed. "I could live another two hundred suns and never grow tired of that. But the time for play is done. Now is the time for business."

She laughed even harder, as if those were the most absurd words ever spoken.

"Fuck me, boy," she said. "Ye Gods at last, fuck a woman."

She rolled me upon my back and climbed astride me, my curved daddle fitting perfectly inside her like the last piece of a cut-wood puzzle. I made a joyful sound as she wrapped about me soft and hot and wet. She danced upon me to music only she could hear, but then I listened with the ears of my daddle and I could hear her music. It was coming from inside her womb, which had given our village many sons and daughters. Their spirits were still inside her and each of them sang. Soon my daddle was singing along, too.

Still laughing, she rolled us over as one creature so that she was upon her back and I was above her. I plunged deeper and deeper inside as she wrapped her arms and legs about me to hold me tight. Our kisses tasted of chocolate and the air was thick with sweat and salt and the smell of fucking.

As I fucked the Chief Mother, her bed seemed to become as soft as the boggy swamps to the south of the village. I sank into her like the poor animals which were sometimes trapped in the quicksands, and she in turn sank into the bed beneath her. I understood then a lesson I had been taught about Death. It is said that when we die we return to earth and become a part of all things. Sinking into the ground with the Chief Mother, I experienced a taste of returning to earth. I had always supposed that to be a frightful thing, but now I saw how wonderful it truly was.

Thinking this thought about death, I shot off for the third time that day. I filled the Chief Mother up with spurting which was if anything more voluminous than that with which I had blessed the mouth of Dawn's Early Light and the couch of the Chief Father.

The Chief Mother climaxed again as I poured myself into her, laughing so hard that tears fell from her eyes.

"Now you are a man," she smiled.

For a while I lay exhausted upon her, my hard daddle resting inside her soft mamoose. We kissed many times until we had each regained our breath. I rolled off of her. She sat up in bed and looked down between her open legs at the milky white seed flowing out of her. She stuck a finger in and brought a glob of the stuff to her mouth.

"Mmm," she said. "I love the taste of a man's first fuck. But it is too precious to drink. Hand me that bottle."

By her bedside was a small bottle carved from stone. I handed it to her and she held it between her legs, expelling my stuff from her mamoose into the stone container. She put a stopper into the lid and climbed out of bed to place the bottle upon a shelf with many others just like it. 

"It has many medicinal and magical uses," she explained. 

She sat beside me on the bed. "There are but two more things you must do before your day is complete. First, suck yourself off."

I looked at her questioningly. "Go on," she nodded. "It is a rare opportunity. Your daddle will never again be so engorged. In the future, if you wish to suck it, you will be forced to bend yourself nearly in half to reach. Many men have broken their necks trying."

She was right. I had tried many times as a boy to suck myself, but had never been able to reach. Now my daddle reached halfway up my chest. I needed only to lean my head down slightly and my daddle-tip slid easily into my mouth.

It tasted of my spunk and the Chief Mother's mamoose, tangy and rich. I relished the flavor as I licked the salt-sweat and the mingled essences away. As soon as the shroomy bulb slid past my tongue, something in my head shifted. I was no longer in the soft bedchamber of the Chief Mother, but in the cold void of darkest space.

I spun through the emptiness for nineteen eternities, having become a spiral galaxy of stars. I achieved the realization that all is one. All the stars and all the Gods and all the men and women who walked upon the earth and all the beasts and trees and plants in the jungle and the earth itself and the waters and the air and the sun and the moons. All one. By turning in upon myself, who was but a tiny drop in the great ocean of the cosmos, I was granted a glimpse of the entire picture. All of time and space was revealed inside myself. I was infinite. I was eternal. My body and mind and spirit were composed of the same particles of light which had always been and will always be. I was perfect. I was entire.

Then I spurted into my own mouth. The stars inside me exploded yet again, but this time I consumed them so their energy was not expelled but drawn back within myself. Nothing is wasted. Nothing dies. 

I opened my eyes and was shocked not only to find myself back in the Chief Mother's bedchamber, but actually floating in the air several feet above her bed. In my self-contained spiral sucking I had levitated off the ground.

I fell back to the silk-enshrouded bed with a surprised cry, semen dripping from my mouth. The Chief Mother, not surprisingly, was laughing at me.

"You're a flyer!" she cried, delighted. "Why, you're bound to go far, son."

I wiped my mouth and spat upon her floor. My teeth were sticky with the stuff, and my stomach was full. I could sense that my well was finally growing dry, and that the blood-pressure within my daddle was finally easing back. The bitter brew was wearing off and I was coming back to normal. I was nearly done.

"And now the final station," spoke the Chief Mother. "Go now into the jungle and find your totem animal. The animal will give you your name and tell you your fortune."

"Yes," I said. Weary, but filled with an eagerness to be done, I ran naked into the jungle.

Night had fallen but somehow I could see perfectly. The jungle is filled with fearsome beasts, poisonous insects, deadly snakes and even plants which can kill a man. Despite all this, I was not afraid. Nothing would harm me on this day. My people held the deepest respect for the jungle and in return the jungle held a respect for our ways. 

I found a black she-bear in the clearing just beyond our village, but she turned her hindquarters on me and sauntered away. I knew that if I pursued her, she would fight me, and I doubted this was a battle I could win. So I continued on.

Next I came to a rare and glorious Bird of Paradise and thought surely this must be my totem. But the bird flew away towards the moon, its glowing emerald tail-feathers fading into the night, without favoring me with so much as a whistle or a caw.

Then I nearly stepped upon a Night Snake, but it merely hissed at me with annoyance and slithered away into the undergrowth.

Finally, after what felt like half a night of searching, I found a pure black wolf sitting upon its haunches beside the moon-shimmered river.

"What has taken you so long?" the wolf asked with a grin, his eyes glowing yellow in the night.

"Sir wolf," I said, kneeling submissively before him. "Are you my totem?"

The wolf snorted as if the reply were so obvious it was beneath him.

"What is my name?" I asked.

"Your name is . . ." The wolf licked his chops and appeared to mull this over thoughtfully. "Your name is Little Thief."

"Little Thief?" I replied. "But why?" I had never stolen anything in my life.

The wolf merely shrugged. His task was to name me, not to explain my name.

"Then what is my fortune?" I asked.

"Are you sure you want to know?" the wolf said.

"Of course I want to know. It is why I sought you out."

"You won't like it," the wolf said.

"What is my fortune?" I asked again, this time with a heaviness in my heart which was reflected in my voice.

"Nineteen is to be your number," the wolf said.

"Nineteen?" I gasped, hoping he did not mean what I thought he meant.

"Yes, from this day forth you will love nineteen others. Your nineteenth lover will bring you death."

"That can't be," I said. Usually when a totem beast spoke of a person's number of lifetime lovers, it was in vague terms like "as many lovers as there are leaves on a Bacaca Tree." Not nineteen. Nineteen had to be wrong. A man in my village could take nineteen lovers in a single moon.

"Regardless," the wolf said. "Nineteen is correct."

The wolf stood, as if to leave, his duty to me complete.

"Wait," I begged. "Is there nothing I can do to lift this curse?"

"Curse?" the wolf frowned. "It's not a curse, Little Thief, it is destiny."

"But surely there is something I can do," I said. "I can't have just nineteen lovers."

"It is not so bad," spoke the wolf. "I myself have a single mate for life. And let me tell you, she's a real bitch." The wolf grinned as if he had just made a very funny joke, but I did not feel like laughing.

"Very well," the wolf said with an annoyed snort. "If you are not satisfied with your destiny, there is a way. But it is very difficult."

"Anything," I said. "I will do anything at all."

"You must journey north, to the very top of the world. There you will find the City of Whores. Make sure you fuck eighteen people on your journey. If your nineteenth lover is the Queen of the City of Whores, my prophecy will be null. Then you may take as many lovers in your life as, oh I don't know, as many as there are bees in a honey-hive."

"The Queen of the City of Whores," I repeated, just to remember the strange words. I did not know what a Queen was, or a city, or a whore. None of those things existed in my village.

"Set off at dawn tomorrow," the wolf said. "Tell no one you are leaving. And may the Gods be with you. Or, just take my advice and be happy with nineteen." 

With that, the wolf walked away into the night, leaving me alone with my heavy heart. I went back home to prepare for my journey.

I thought of Dawn's Early Light as I made my way through the dense jungle night. I would not be worthy of marriage to her if what the wolf had told me was true. (And totem animals had never been known to make false prophecy.) Why, the wedding ceremony itself involved much ceremonial fucking of thes. Dawn's First Light's eleven sisters would use up more than half my lifetime allotment in a single night. And then what was I supposed to do when we went visiting another married couple? Refuse to swap mates? That would be a terrible rudeness.

So I snuck into my hut without waking my mother and father, or my sister or my brothers. I dressed and packed a sack with the few possessions I owned which might aid me on my journey. A bow and quiver with ten poison arrows. A handful of Komo nuts, to keep me awake and alert when I grew weary. A wood-carved flute to amuse myself when I grew lonely. A few changes of clothing and my lucky snake's fang charm.

I crept from my village just as the light was beginning to light the eastern sky, praying to the Gods that I may see my beloved home again. Then I set off north, along the banks of the river, towards the top of the world where the Queen of the City of Whores awaited.