Date: Fri, 11 Jul 2014 12:44:00 -0400
From: Eff Del <nolitimere156@gmail.com>
Subject: First Light

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

As most of you know I've been rather ill. I was sitting down this morning
fully intending to work on the next chapter of Flights of Angels when this
little vignette happened. It has no relation to Flights of Angels but I
thought I'd post it on NIFTY to get some reaction. So please drop me a line
at nolitimere156@gmail.com

Thanks!

-Eff.



Please remember to make a contribution to NIFTY in order to keep all of
these stories coming



First Light

By Eff Del



As the world grew gradually lighter, the bird sounds could be heard as they
cried out from their hiding places among the thick branches of the lower
forest canopy. The cacophony of their calls spread the message to each
other and the surrounding world;

"It's alright. The morning is breaking. The darkness is fading. The black
terror of night is gone from the earth for a few more hours."



Somewhere under the slate grey sky, the sun began the ponderous effort of
rising from its secluded resting place below the horizon.



Shedding the womblike warmth of the blankets with a deliberate; almost
angry reluctance, the man stirred peering into the yet cool morning air in
an exploratory fashion.



Rising to his feet he opened his mouth in a wide leonine yawn. He casually
scratched his chest, scrotum and buttocks as he gazed slowly around the
room from under sleep heavy eyelids.



Satisfied, he snatched the long strip of once white cloth up from the floor
and shook it vigorously.



With a sullen satisfaction he watched as the agitation dislodged the
blue-shelled beetle that had taken refuge among the folds of the material.
The creature was thrown some feet away; landing on its hard round back with
multiple legs flailing in the air. In a few moments the sheer energy of its
thrashing righted it and it scampered away to seek a new (if temporary)
hiding place.



Wrapping the colorless cloth that functioned as his garment twice around
his waist, he cinched the leather chord that acted as his belt tight enough
to hold the make- shift kilt in place.



Almost casually, he slipped his feet into the old worn shoes that had
served him without benefit of laces for more mornings than he could
remember.

He remembered when they'd had laces. He could draw them tightly around his
feet and he could run with a sure swiftness. Now, they were loose. He'd not
yet got around to fashioning rawhide strips for laces and this morning
there was no helping that fact. Today, he would pay the price of
yesterday's sloth.

The man was forced to walk with a careful thoughtful gait lest the
ill-fitting footwear fly off his feet as he strode too boldly.



With customary and practiced deliberation, the man walked outside into the
morning air. It was already warming even though the sun was still
struggling to appear in the halfl dark sky.



With the end of a thin stick, he probed the grey ash he had banked against
the corner of the ancient iron stove last night.

Slowly he turned a glowing red lump from its hiding place and out into the
middle.

The still hot coal brought a smile of satisfaction to his face.  This
morning would be easy. The fire would be quick. The day was beginning well.



His practiced hands fed small bits of fuel into the fire box to satisfy the
hungry heat sleeping within the coal. Suddenly; violently it manifested
itself by bursting into bright flame. Adding more wood into the stove he
nodded approvingly.



The man lifted the old iron pots from the grate and carried them down the
well-trod slope to the clear pool of water created by the sharp bend in the
stream. It was because of this large calm source of pure water that he had
chosen to build the stronghold here so very long ago.



He dipped the pots; first the large one and then the smaller into the water.



The slowly building heat of the morning caused a mist to raise stream like
from the surface of the almost glass calm water. To his eyes, the vapor
gave the impression that the water was warm; almost heated, but the crisp
bite of the cold liquid against the bare skin of his arms gave the lie to
that illusion.



Hefting the now filled pots, he decided that despite the weight, he could
carry them back to the stove in one trip.



As the steam rose from the two heating pots, the man bent over and opened
the large wooden chest. He pulled out the plump herb bag and laid it aside
and then withdrew the two ceramic cups.



Setting them upon the crude table he smiled with pleasure. He remembered
when he had formed them from the river clay. It had not been as easy as
he'd thought it might be.  Through slow trial and error, he had taught
himself to create the pottery and more importantly; how to glaze and fire
the objects so that they would hold liquid.



He laid two plates alongside the cups and nodded again. They were pleasing
to look at and he was proud of his long ago handiwork.



Unrolling the herb bag, the man considered the dried material critically
before deciding upon three. Pinching a quantity of each of these, he
dropped the bits into both of the ceramic cups.

Satisfied, the man rolled the herb bag back up and returned it to the chest.



Grasping the old carved wooden ladle hanging from a nearby tree branch, the
man filled each mug with hot water from the smaller pot. Sniffing the
fragrant steam, he set the cups aside to steep.



Half shuffling half walking the man approached the large wooden cabinet
that he had long ago fashioned to rest securely in the fork of two twin
tree trunks.



Opening the door he used the large knife hanging inside to slice two strips
of meat from the smoked haunch hanging from the hook. From the other side
of the cabinet, he tore of two chunks of bread from one of the hard dark
loves that rested there.



As he did this, he registered the knowledge that he would have to bake
again soon. The man did not relish this idea as the bread baking was nearly
as difficult as hunting and killing the animals that supplied the meat.
Gazing at the hanging haunch he noted forlornly that this was another task
he must face soon.



Carrying his goods back to the stove, the man stretched the strips of meat
over the grate and placed a chunk of bread upon the two plates.



Grasping one of the steaming cups, the man sat in his large wooden chair
and took a tentative sip. The tea was fruity and naturally sweet. He smiled
and enjoyed the taste upon his tongue.



The sound drew his gaze to the door of the stronghold in time to see the
boy step out into the morning.



Even after all this time the man reflected that the boy was the most
beautiful thing in his world. Slender willowy legs and thin arms with skin
the color of the sweet honey they occasionally stole from the beehive
together.

His long  shimmering hair hung down to his thin shoulders flying wildly as
the boy turned his head.

He saw the man just as the man saw him and his bright eyes smiled from
under long dark lashes.

He was naked as usual and he made his way barefoot down the path.



The man noticed with pleasure that the boy moved with graceful quick
movements not unlike a bird's as he snatched the other cup from the table
and tasted the hot beverage tentatively before looking up at the man with a
wide smile.



The man rose from his chair and gestured the small boy to a bench at the
table. Spearing the meat from the hot grille with a pointed stick the man
placed a steaming strip upon each of the plates and placed one before the
smiling boy.



Silently they broke their fast and the man watched as the boy sopped up the
grease on his plate with a corner of the hard bread.



The man thought that soon they must seek out a bee's hive so that the boy
would have something sweet to dip his crust in.



Such adventures were always fun. The man would chase and subdue the
swarming insects by swinging his smudge pots belching thick greasy smoke
while the boy pulled out the waxen combs dripping with amber sweet goodness.



After they had stored the bulk of the honey in clear glass jars left over
from the long ago time, they would always share one comb laughing as the
sweetness pleased their tongues and the sticky thick syrup dripped down
their lips and chins. The naked boy would always let some spatter upon his
thin chest and stomach and the man would enjoy licking if off of his smooth
skin while the boy laughed joyfully.



Returning to the reality, the man placed the plates into a basket to be
carried to the water later for washing. Still holding his cup, he sat back
down onto his large chair.



Grasping his own cup, the boy silently climbed up and settled upon the
man's lap leaning back against the hairy chest finally issuing a sigh of
contentment.



Without thinking the man ran a hand gently down the boy's soft cheek in a
slow almost mindless rhythm while with his other hand he gently dandled the
small boy bits that hang between the long smooth legs.

These felt so silky and smooth to the touch and the man always enjoyed
playing with them. The boy obviously enjoyed the touching as well because
his round little bottom wiggled and squirmed on the man's lap and in short
measure his little boy rod grew hard and stiff.



The man gently stroked the child's erection as he watched and felt the boy
on his lap enter and then emerge from the throes of pleasure. The boy did
not emit the thick white fluid that marked a man but he obviously took
great pleasure from the action none the less.



The boy's chest heaved rapidly from his just spent passion and he twisted
his head around raising his body to allow his cheek to rub against the
man's.



He nodded knowingly at the man and jumped deer like to the ground and
sprinted like a wild thing up the path and into the stronghold.



Shortly, he returned carrying a long finely made wooden case which he
placed upon the table. The boy eyed the man and nodded with a smile as he
opened the lid of the case.



The small hands extracted a worn leather strap with a brass hook fixed to
one end. He put the hook through a brass eyelet that had been screwed into
one of the end boards of the table.



Grasping the other end of the strap tightly, the boy took the razor from
its fitted rest at the bottom of the case.



The blade was old and very long; half again as long as the boy's hand from
wrist to fingertip.



With practiced skill the boy worked the blade up and down the length of the
tightly pulled leather as he slowly and skillfully stropped the edge of the
blade to exquisite keenness.



After a while, the boy examined the blade in the slowly improving morning
light and gently ran a thumb along the edge. He smiled at the man satisfied
with his handiwork.



Laying the razor almost lovingly down upon a folded cloth, he took the
brush and bowl from the case.



Using the ladle, the boy sprinkled a few drops of hot water from the larger
pot into the bow moistening the disc of soap that it contained.

Tossing his head back to clear the hair that had fallen in front of his
eyes, he dipped the bristles of the brush into the hot water in the pot and
then began to swiftly whisk the soap in the bowl until he had raised a
thick lather.



The man had leaned back in his chair and draped his head over the edge of
the backrest exposing his neck to the still grey sky.



Silently, the boy approached with the brush and bowl and worked the warm
lather into the stubble on the man's face and neck.



Satisfied with his coverage, he placed the brush and bowl onto the table
and picked up the razor and with slow long strokes shaved the man clean.
Running his little palms over the skin he satisfied himself with the
completeness of his work.



Dipping a towel into the large pot he wrung it out slightly and then placed
the steaming cloth against the man's newly shaven face and neck.



While the man enjoyed the heat against his skin, the boy placed the brush
in the basket with the plates. Adding the two now empty cups, he walked
down to the water and rinsed each of the items clean.



Placing the basket upon the shore, the boy took in a deep breath and
plunged head first into that crackling cold water.



Just a few moments and the chill proved too much for him and shivering
violently, the boy picked up the basket and scampered up the slope.



The man was waiting when he reached the table. He had folded up the towels
and replaced the razor and strop in the case. Taking the brush from the
basket, he shook it briskly sending a fine spray of water splashing onto
the boy causing him to squeal in mock protest. Placing the brush in the
case, the man closed the lid and set it aside.



Placing the cups and plates carefully back in the chest, the man smiled
down at the boy who had stopped shivering and looked up into his face with
a small smile upon his lips.



The man drew the boy into him and embraced him tightly. The boy stool
relaxed and close as he enjoyed the intimacy.



Releasing the embrace, the man ran his fingertips down the boy's back
feeling the rhythm as he passed over each vertebra in the spine and finally
resting on the soft globes of the young lush ass.

Grasping them gently but firmly, he lifted the boy up and guided him over
so that he lay on the table.



Still firmly gripping the boy's butt, the man raised the thin pelvis up as
he lowered his face to the rising crotch.



The boy smiled and rolled his eyes in anticipation and he breathed a soft
"Ahhhh." As the man's lips enveloped his iron hard little rod.



The boy rocked and moaned as the man licked and sucked upon his boyhood
until the familiar fire rose from somewhere in his belly and erupted in a
dry explosion.



The man located the small jar of oil the boy had also brought from inside
the stronghold and he quickly dipped two fingers.



Bringing them down between the boy's open legs, the man smeared the viscous
fluid down the crevasse between the two fleshy mounds.



The boy rested back on the table and drew his knees back to his shoulders.
Gently but firmly the man's rampant member found and penetrated its target.



The man felt himself engulfed by the hot, smooth, exquisite tightness as he
drove deep until his pubic bone pressed against the small firm globes of
the boy's bottom.



Slowly but deliberately the man drew himself almost out and then back in,
repeating the action without pause as the boy rocked beneath him thrusting
his hips to work in unison with the man's determined strokes.



There was no music save for their individual breathing and sounds of lust
and pleasure but this was most certainly a dance they had shared many times.



As the explosion neared, the man drove himself deeply into the boy, pulling
the small body into his groin as he felt himself expel his fluids deep into
the compliant child.



The man pulled out and ran his hands gently; lovingly down the small body
that lay panting for breath on the table.



Dipping one of the nearby towels in the large pot, the man slowly washed
between the boy's legs and all throughout his hidden crevice. He pulled the
boy back up to a standing position and stooped down to kiss his eyes.



The smiling boy danced more than walked to the nearby hammock the man had
put up scarce weeks ago and curling up into a little ball fell asleep
almost at once.



The man glanced at him lovingly as the big hammock folded around the small
sleeping form. The boy looked for the moment like a small brown nut still
wrapped in its protective shell as the hammock rocked gently still reacting
to the inertia of the boy climbing aboard.



Packing away the remainder of the things they had used this morning, the
man quietly carried the razor case and the oil jar back into the stronghold
and put everything back in their proper place.



He checked the wood supply by the fireplace and absently straightened the
blankets and firs that served as bed for both he and the boy.



Mentally he reviewed the current situation. He would need to bake soon;
probably tomorrow and he would need to hunt in a few days. It was not yet
nearing the cold time and so there was not yet any urgency to stock pile
meat or grain. The world was still warm and bountiful.



It was a good morning to let the boy sleep. Later, they could go out
together with sacks and gather fresh berries from the hill; perhaps even
take a fish or two from the river to enjoy for their evening meal.



He regretted that the boy never spoke. This was the only thing lacking in
his company. He knew well that the boy could make sounds and he certainly
heard because he responded to sounds and he learned and he reacted to the
man's speech. It was almost as if the boy were afraid to speak.



His memory returned back to the long ago when he had found the boy; small
and frightened clinging to the dead body of the woman. From the child's
attachment to her, the man assumed her to be the boy's mother though the
boy's muteness never allowed him to provide confirmation.



He had no idea where they had come from. He'd not seen another human being
since he built the stronghold in the long ago.



Apparently, they had been caught in the forest after dark. The night things
had killed the woman but spared the child for some reason.



He had buried the woman under a large tree so that he would remember the
place if the boy ever wanted to find it. He'd carried the small boy back to
the stronghold and they had lived together ever since.



He loved the boy. The boy brought beauty and happiness into a world that
had been dull commonplace before he came.



He remembered every moment of their time; the warm soft comfort of the
small naked body cuddled against him under the blankets at night.



He recalled the first time he had fearfully sought relief through the boy's
body; terrified of hurting or frightening the small child but to his
surprise the boy had understood his needs and had offered himself
willingly; blankets thrown back and little legs spread wide, they had
coupled in the darkness and the man had wept for the pure fierce love of
the boy.



The boy had been his constant companion from the first day and the man
marveled at how smart he was. He learned after being shown a thing usually
just once. His laughter was like music to the man's heart and his smile was
bright as sunshine dancing on the water.



Once, in the days ago, down by the river, the man had fashioned a flute
from some reeds and played a simple tune for the boy.



The boy's eyes had opened wide with wonder and pleasure. The man had
fashioned a flute for the boy and gave it to him; showing him how placing
fingers over the holes in the tube altered the notes.



Very soon thereafter, the boy was fashioning complex melodies that tugged
at the man's soul. Some were so bright and happy as to make the body sway
and dance while others were so sad and melancholy as to almost draw tears
from the eyes and break the heart in sorrow.



Sometimes the man imagined that this was how the boy spoke. The music of
the flute was his voice and he was eloquent.



Reaching up into one of the many cabinets that he had long ago built, the
man selected a length of dark rough leather. From his tool box he chose a
sharp blade and a scraper. He carried these outside and down the path and
sat himself at the table so that he could enjoy watching the sleeping boy.



While he watched, he would begin cutting and scraping the strips of leather
that would become new laces for his shoes.



The man smiled as he worked. This would be a productive day after all.



When the boy woke, they would spend the day gathering and fishing. When the
evening meal was finished, he would bank the coals in the stove as he
always did and with any luck in the morning he would pluck a still burning
coal from the ashes.



They would go inside the stronghold as the sun was setting and the man
would bar the door against the Night Things. He would pour some oil into
the two lamps and light them. If there was a chill in the air, he would
light a warm fire in the fire place and the boy would take up his flute and
play his music for the man.



When the boy grew tired of making music, he would put his flute safely
aside and the man would take one of the books down from the shelf and read
to the boy who would sit between his legs and try to follow the mysterious
makings upon the paper that the man somehow magically transformed into
words that then transitioned into stories.



The man would untie he belt thong and unwrap his kilt crawling naked under
the covers to join the boy who waited for him.

Except for the time of the cold days, the boy would not wear clothing and
his beauty so bewitched the man that he had no complaint.



The would pull close to one another and the man would whisper words of
affection to the boy who in turn would make happy comforting noises.



Some nights they would fall asleep this way while on others, the boy would
push back the covers and draw up his knees inviting the man to couple with
him and give them both pleasure and comfort.



After some time, the boy began to stir in the hammock. He raised his head
up from the canvass folds and seeing the man at the table; smiled broadly.



The man surveyed his morning's production with satisfaction. One more day's
work and he would have sturdy laces for his shoes.



He carried all of his materials back into the stronghold and emerged with
two cloth sacks that could be slung over even the boy's slight shoulders.
He also carried four cunningly fashioned fishing spears.



The boy was waiting and with a broad smile, folded himself against the man
in a loving embrace.



The man handed the boy his shoulder sack and the two shorter spears.
Reaching down he squeezed one of the boy's soft little globes and together
they started down the path.



This was a good morning. Looking to the sky, the man noticed that the sun
had barely begun its journey across the sky. It would be a productive day.
sky.

*********************************************************



I'd appreciate it if you'd drop me a line and let me know what you thought
of this piece. I had no real intention of writing it; it just sort of came
out.

I promise the next chapter of Flights of Angels will be ready early next
week. Thanks for all of your support!

-Eff