Allahabod Wellington has fetched up on the shores of the Clear Land. The sand is firm, cool and moist beneath his feet, and crumbles pleasantly between his toes. Aeons of seashells pounded to powder give a slight iridescence to the beach of golden sand.
The land slopes gently up to green rolling hills, almost pillow-like in their softness. The grass is tender underfoot, and a warm breeze plays upon his skin. Before long he encounters a little brook of clear water trickling down to the sea; its taste is cool and sweet. As he follows its course further up the slope, he finds small trees growing by its banks, many bearing fruits of various kinds. These too prove sweet and sound.
He feels a compulsion to climb higher and higher up the slopes; before long the sea sparkles hundreds of feet below, the sound of its waves distant and faint. Allahabad continues to climb, taking a path that follows the course of the stream.
The more he climbs the more the land rises in ever-ascending billows and folds; soon there appear flowers in many colors all around him and in ever-growing profusion. Their many scents are intoxicating. It is as though these hills, pleasant and tender to his bare feet as they may be, are surging in dips and folds ever upward toward some crescendo, some vast flowering mountain that looms a hundred miles inland from this spot. And somewhere in this land he will surely find his friend, who has come here before him.
Saint William S. Burroughs, in Naked Lunch, has said:
"On Screen. Red-haired, green-eyed boy, white skin with a few freckles... kissing a thin brunette girl in slacks. Clothes and hair-do suggest existentialist bars of all the world cities. They are seated on low bed covered in white silk. The girl opens his pants with gentle fingers and pulls out his cock which is small and very hard. A drop of lubricant gleams at its tip like a pearl. She caresses the crown gently: "Strip, Johnny." He takes off his clothes with swift sure movements and stands naked before her, his cock pulsing. She makes a motion for him to turn around and he pirouettes across the floor parodying a model, hand on hip. She takes off her shirt.
Her breasts are high and small with erect nipples. She slips off her underpants. Her pubic hairs are black and shiny. He sits down beside her and reaches for her breast. She stops his hands.
"Darling, I want to rim you," she whispers.
"No. Not now."
"Please, I want to."
"Well, all right. I'll go wash my ass."
"No, I'll wash it."
"Aw shucks now, it ain't dirty."
"Yes it is. Come on now, Johnny boy."
She leads him into the bathroom. "All right, get down." He gets down on his knees and leans forward, with his chin on the bath mat. "Allah," he says. He looks back and grins at her. She washes his ass with soap and hot water sticking her finger up it.
"Does that hurt?"
"Noooooooooo."
"Come along, baby." She leads the way into the bedroom. He lies down on his back and throws his legs back over his head, clasping elbows behind his knees. She kneel down and caress the backs of his thighs, his balls, running her fingers down the perennial divide. She push his cheeks apart, lean down and begin licking the anus, moving her head in a slow circle. She push at the sides of the asshole, licking deeper and deeper. He close his eyes and squirm. She lick up the perennial divide. His small, tight balls.... A great pearl stands out on the tip of his circumcised cock. Her mouth closes over the crown. She sucks rhythmically up and down, pausing on the up stroke and moving her head around in a circle. Her hand plays gently with his balls, slide down and middle finger up his ass. As she suck down toward the root of his cock she tickle his prostate mockingly. He grin and fart. She is sucking his cock now in a frenzy. His body begins to contract, pulling up toward his chin. Each time the contraction is longer.
"Wheeeeeeee!" the boy yell, every muscle tense, his whole body strain to empty through his cock. She drinks his jissom which fills her mouth in great hot spurts. He lets his feet Hop back onto the bed. He arches his back and yawns. Mary is strapping on a rubber penis: "Steely Dan III from Yokohama," she says, caressing the shaft. Milk spurts across the room.
"Be sure that milk is pasteurized. Don't go giving me some kinda awful cow disease like anthrax or glanders or aftosa...."
The Clear Land is sacred to Eros and Aphrodite, and to Dionysos. Only people who belong there and have some business there can find it. It’s marked on charts, but those whose presence is not pleasing to the gods can’t get there, for it is protected by a synchronicity barrier. Whoever has no business there tends to find he forgot his purpose, and gets distracted by some other project and winds up pursuing that; or he loses his charts and drops his sextant in the sea, or there’s a mutiny, or a storm blows up and drives the vessel off course. As to those who are truly determined, and who are quite deliberately up to no good: they too are diverted, or rather thwarted. We don’t like to mention what happens to them; it isn’t pleasant.
Mid-Shipman Jamie Pip clearly has some business in the Clear Land, and belongs there; for he found his way there, though seemingly by accident. It is a very large and preternaturally beautiful island, full of strange wild beautiful open country. It appears empty of people, yet here and there are tiny traveller’s shelters, as thought set there on purpose to receive just such wanderers as he - and so indeed they are. Jamie has found that food and shelter alike are easy to come by there in all seasons.
Ever he wanders toward the heart of the island, climbing gradually ever higher by valley and hill. Yet instead of cruel stony mountains with jagged ridges and crags, the land grows ever lusher as it rises, more luxuriant and welcoming.
Truly this is a place of happiness, meant for joy. But Jamie is lacking one thing. Where is his friend? What has become of Aliabad? Will he ever find him again?
4 comments:
Allahabod Wellington has fetched up on the shores of the Clear Land. The sand is firm, cool and moist beneath his feet, and crumbles pleasantly between his toes. Aeons of seashells pounded to powder give a slight iridescence to the beach of golden sand.
The land slopes gently up to green rolling hills, almost pillow-like in their softness. The grass is tender underfoot, and a warm breeze plays upon his skin. Before long he encounters a little brook of clear water trickling down to the sea; its taste is cool and sweet. As he follows its course further up the slope, he finds small trees growing by its banks, many bearing fruits of various kinds. These too prove sweet and sound.
He feels a compulsion to climb higher and higher up the slopes; before long the sea sparkles hundreds of feet below, the sound of its waves distant and faint. Allahabad continues to climb, taking a path that follows the course of the stream.
The more he climbs the more the land rises in ever-ascending billows and folds; soon there appear flowers in many colors all around him and in ever-growing profusion. Their many scents are intoxicating. It is as though these hills, pleasant and tender to his bare feet as they may be, are surging in dips and folds ever upward toward some crescendo, some vast flowering mountain that looms a hundred miles inland from this spot. And somewhere in this land he will surely find his friend, who has come here before him.
Z
Saint William S. Burroughs, in Naked Lunch, has said:
"On Screen. Red-haired, green-eyed boy, white skin with a few freckles... kissing a thin brunette girl in slacks. Clothes and hair-do suggest existentialist bars of all the world cities. They are seated on low bed covered in white silk. The girl opens his pants with gentle fingers and pulls out his cock which is small and very hard. A drop of lubricant gleams at its tip like a pearl. She caresses the crown gently: "Strip, Johnny." He takes off his clothes with swift sure movements and stands naked before her, his cock pulsing. She makes a motion for him to turn around and he pirouettes across the floor parodying a model, hand on hip. She takes off her shirt.
Her breasts are high and small with erect nipples. She slips off her underpants. Her pubic hairs are black and shiny. He sits down beside her and reaches for her breast. She stops his hands.
"Darling, I want to rim you," she whispers.
"No. Not now."
"Please, I want to."
"Well, all right. I'll go wash my ass."
"No, I'll wash it."
"Aw shucks now, it ain't dirty."
"Yes it is. Come on now, Johnny boy."
She leads him into the bathroom. "All right, get down." He gets down on his knees and leans forward, with his chin on the bath mat. "Allah," he says. He looks back and grins at her. She washes his ass with soap and hot water sticking her finger up it.
"Does that hurt?"
"Noooooooooo."
"Come along, baby." She leads the way into the bedroom. He lies down on his back and throws his legs
back over his head, clasping elbows behind his knees. She kneel down and caress the backs of his thighs, his balls, running her fingers down the perennial divide. She push his cheeks apart, lean down and begin licking the anus, moving her head in a slow circle. She push at the sides of the asshole, licking deeper and deeper. He close his eyes and squirm. She lick up the perennial divide. His small, tight balls.... A great pearl stands out on the tip of his circumcised cock. Her mouth closes over the crown. She sucks rhythmically up and down, pausing on the up stroke and moving her head around in a circle. Her hand plays gently with his balls, slide down and middle finger up his ass. As she suck down toward the root of his cock she tickle his prostate mockingly. He grin and fart. She is sucking his cock now in a frenzy. His body begins to contract, pulling up toward his chin. Each time the contraction is longer.
"Wheeeeeeee!" the boy yell, every muscle tense, his whole body strain to empty through his cock. She drinks his jissom which fills her mouth in great hot spurts. He lets his feet Hop back onto the bed. He arches his back and yawns. Mary is strapping on a rubber penis: "Steely Dan III from Yokohama," she says, caressing the shaft. Milk spurts across the room.
"Be sure that milk is pasteurized. Don't go giving me some kinda awful cow disease like anthrax or glanders or aftosa...."
Thank you both.
Thank you especially Z for continuing the saga of Mid-Shipman Pip, and his beloved Aliabad.
The Clear Land is sacred to Eros and Aphrodite, and to Dionysos. Only people who belong there and have some business there can find it. It’s marked on charts, but those whose presence is not pleasing to the gods can’t get there, for it is protected by a synchronicity barrier. Whoever has no business there tends to find he forgot his purpose, and gets distracted by some other project and winds up pursuing that; or he loses his charts and drops his sextant in the sea, or there’s a mutiny, or a storm blows up and drives the vessel off course. As to those who are truly determined, and who are quite deliberately up to no good: they too are diverted, or rather thwarted. We don’t like to mention what happens to them; it isn’t pleasant.
Mid-Shipman Jamie Pip clearly has some business in the Clear Land, and belongs there; for he found his way there, though seemingly by accident. It is a very large and preternaturally beautiful island, full of strange wild beautiful open country. It appears empty of people, yet here and there are tiny traveller’s shelters, as thought set there on purpose to receive just such wanderers as he - and so indeed they are. Jamie has found that food and shelter alike are easy to come by there in all seasons.
Ever he wanders toward the heart of the island, climbing gradually ever higher by valley and hill. Yet instead of cruel stony mountains with jagged ridges and crags, the land grows ever lusher as it rises, more luxuriant and welcoming.
Truly this is a place of happiness, meant for joy. But Jamie is lacking one thing. Where is his friend? What has become of Aliabad? Will he ever find him again?
Z
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