Date: Mon, 19 Jan 2009 13:13:52 -0500
From: M Patroclus <thephallocrat@gmail.com>
Subject: The Exile, Chapter 3

Chapter Three-

**The following story contains sex between men. I promise, it's in
there. If this offends you, I apologize. There's also a significant amount
of plot. If this offends you, I apologize again. I hope you enjoy!**

The following morning Damon and I began a relatively uneventful journey
through the forest, heading northward, that lasted several days. Peaceful,
uninterrupted days of travel do not make for a good story, thus I will
touch on them here only briefly. Early on the first day, Damon warned me
that he sensed a large presence following us at some distance, and I,
guessing at what it was, told him not to be concerned but to warn me if it
came any closer. I did not know what the giant intended, but his demeanor
in our brief interaction had suggested he meant us no harm. He made me
uncomfortable and confused, and so I did not wish to spare much thought on
him. So long as he kept his distance, I was content to ignore his presence.

It will be understood by my reader, of course, that all along this journey
Damon required frequent gifts of my life energy to keep him in power to
provide us with food, protection, and warmth. I will not describe these
encounters here in detail as I have done with our first few engagements,
for they were all without exception mere variations on the same acts. Most
often we coupled at night before the weariness of the day brought me into
the realm of sleep, but just as often I would awaken to find him already in
the midst of pleasuring me. While I always managed to find desire within
myself (for he was, as I have said, more than perfect) at times the act
felt more like a chore than a recreation. The illusion that I could love my
servant in any real or meaningful way had long since vanished, and our
intense physical unions were but the form or shape of such, without real
passion or connection. I needed him to survive, and he served me well, so I
loved him like perhaps a man loves his favorite hound. He relied on me for
his only source of sustenance, and so naturally he loved me back in his own
way.

I have said we headed north. At the time, I didn't think much of our
direction or our destination, and yet clearly some power (call it destiny,
if you will, but perhaps the sword I carried was already pulling itself
towards its home) guided my steps. And so we headed unerringly north until
the trees of the mighty forest I had lived in all my life began to thin
slightly. At last one afternoon, as the sun was slowly fading toward the
horizon, I stepped past the line of trees and out into a open grassy plain.

I, who had always known the tops of trees and the comfortable arms of
branches, now gazed upon an empty and unbroken sky so broad and blue that
it seemed to take up all my sight. I was open and exposed and, staring into
that vast emptiness marred only by an occasional cloud, I began to feel
dizzy and panicked. I became so certain, suddenly, that I would fall off
the face of the earth and disappear into that vacancy that I thought my
feet were lifting from the ground and I fell to the grass and clung for my
life. It took Damon a few moments to talk me back into my senses, and then,
feeling more rational, I felt ashamed for my impulsive fear. Still, as we
continued on into the wide and empty plain I could not quite look at the
sky without some anxiety, and kept my eyes focused on the ground in front
of my feet. It is a fear that had never before possessed me, yet was to
plague me now for some time afterwards. It has been rumored, as such things
often are by those who know nothing, that I am a man without fear.Indeed,
many of my new subjects, seeking to fawn over and praise those newly risen
to power, have suggested on occasion that I am more than human, a god
walking among men. It is nonsense, as I hope I have made plain already in
my tale. I am and always have been simply a man, subject to the same
frailties and follies as other men. If I have achieved some level of
greatness, it has not been by becoming less human but by becoming more so
-- but I get ahead of myself.

We traveled along the open plains for some time until we stumbled upon our
first sign of civilization, a wide dirt road covered with ruts from carts
and hoofed imprints from the animals that had pulled them. This we followed
for some length of time, for every road must lead someplace and I had
nowhere better to go. That road, barely more than a winding narrow path at
times, was our only companion. We saw no one the rest of that day. When the
sun had set and my feet grown weary, we bedded some ways off the road and,
after having enjoyed Damon's physical delights, I curled into a restful
sleep. Having been utterly alone during the day, I had assumed we would be
so throughout the night. I was wrong, then and often after. I have always
been plagued with that peculiar tendency to assume all will work out for
the best (except perhaps the first night of my exile, when I had
contemplated ending my life in the dark tomb) and even now I cannot say to
what degree this inclination has proved a blessing or a curse.

Damon woke me, and it was still dark. I was alert and in anticipation in
seconds, for the tone of his voice spoke volumes. We did not wait long. The
silence in the night air seemed to thicken, and I was suddenly aware that
we were not alone. The pale light of the moon revealed silky, quick-moving
shapes surrounding us, some darting near my right side, others advancing
cautiously towards my front, and still others (I could now hear their soft
footsteps in the grass) covering my back so that I could not retreat. The
ancient silver sword was at my side, and I drew it now, knowing already
that there were far too many for any chance of survival, particularly in
the darkness. What's more, my assaulters carried long polearms and spears
which greatly out-reached my own weapon, giving them a further deadly
advantage. Still, I was determined to show no fear and to fight well, if a
fight was my only option.

I held my blade at the ready, but no attack came. The thin shapes grew
closer, tightening a circle around me, and I turned frantically to and fro
to try to keep them all within my sights. Damon, I noticed with
frustration, had vanished and I was alone.

"What do you want with me?" I shouted at last, and the nearest dark shapes
flinched at my voice.

A light, high-pitched, regal voice responded: "Surrender your blade,
warrior from the wood."

I cocked my head. "I will not." The shapes stiffened. "But I will gladly
sheathe my weapon if you will do the same with yours."

"Yours is not a position for bargaining." It was a woman's voice, that much
was plain. "You have nothing to gain from this resistance, and everything
to lose. My amazarii will run you through if you strike, and will run you
through if you do not obey. There is nothing further to discuss."

Even I, stubborn though I often am, could not help but see her point.  It
pained me more than I thought I could bear, but I dropped the sword, which,
being all I owned in the world, was very dear to me. At once several dark
shapes closed in, a few snatching at the blade and several others binding
my hands in tight iron manacles. A torch came to life, and in its light I
could see my assailants more clearly. There were at least a dozen in total,
and every one of them possessed the roundness of hips and fullness of
breast that identified them immediately as women, but women such as I had
never seen. I had heard it said that in other lands, women were regarded as
inferior creatures, subordinate to men. It had never been so in the village
of my youth, for though the keys of authority resided officially with the
men of my tribe, the true power in all the day-to-day life had been wielded
by their daughters, wives and mothers. Young girls were taught all the same
arts of combat and rigours of religion as the boys, and each were taught to
respect the other as part of a necessary whole. In our militia, often the
best scouts and archers were women who fought, lived, drank, and, if
necessary, would die beside their male counterparts.

If the women I saw now seemed strange when compared to the women I had
known, they did not on the other hand seem like the soft, fragile,
repressed creatures I had come to expect in the world outside my home. They
bore arms with confidence, and armor and shields that seemed light yet
sturdy. One would expect a female body to seem strange in such a masculine
shell, but it was not so. The angles and curves of the plate of their armor
only emphasized the strong femininity of their form, so that while dressed
as soldiers in a way the women of our militia never had been, there was
nothing at all to compare them to the male soldiers I had known, or to
those I had fought outside the tomb some days before. It was impossible,
even for me, to look at them without the eye being drawn to those parts and
formations which would not have appeared on a man.

The voice who had spoken to me was their leader, a tall and slender woman
with long yellow hair (as were they all). Her eyes were sharp, and gleamed
with an intelligence that was quick and cruel. She slapped me, hard, across
the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked bitterly, my face stinging.

She smiled. "That is the way we greet men in Fermanagh." She turned from me
then, and I felt as though I had ceased to exist, for her at least.

"Hold him tight, and lets move out. Our Mistress will expect us just after
dawn."

"What about the other, Captainne?" asked one of the women near me. "He
traveled with a companion when I saw him last."

"He has fled," replied the leader, "Or is waiting in hiding to rescue his
friend. Let him try -- our orders were for this one alone."

"Where are you taking me?" I demanded, but was rewarded with another strike
across the face, this time with the butt of a spear.

"Quiet, male," said my guard, laughter in her voice, "you are in the hands
of the amazarii of Fermanagh, Handmaidens to the Queen, and will speak only
when you are asked to speak."

Needless to say, I was not asked to speak for a long time. We marched all
through the night and I, who considered my strides great and my pace quick,
struggled to keep up with my captors who, for all their equipment, ran as
gracefully and unrestricted as though nude. To be captive again, and in the
hands of those whose intentions seemed only to do me ill, was agonizing and
I plotted escape. These were skilled warriors, though, not violent
simpletons like Bert and Errold. Where Damon was or when he might appear to
aid me I did not know.

When dawn poked its head above the open plains, we were still moving with
great speed down the road, which had filled out and grew more packed and
cared for as we went. We now passed the travelers I had expected to see the
day before, and in the distance I could make out the grand walls of some
great city. It was that bustling city-state Fermanagh, the jewel of the
great plains, though I knew nothing of it then beyond the name I heard from
my guards. The stone walls stretched wide enough for me to see that it was
a large city indeed, larger by far than my village or indeed than any
settlement I could have possibly imagined. It seemed so large even at a
distance that I felt we were mere moments from reaching it. In reality, it
took perhaps ten times as long as I expected to reach the gates, and with
each second the size of the walls grew until I could not look at them,
reaching into the open sky, without a twinge of that fear that had
paralyzed me before.

We had come within the shadow of the wall itself when we were
intercepted. The armored men of the group in front of us were as different
from the amazarii who held me captive as could be imagined, and yet they
seemed in every respect their equal. Many of the men wore beards or
mustaches, and their armor was bulky and wide in the shoulders. I was
struck by how many of them were fair-headed; in my village, dark hair is
most common. The male soldiers wore impressive armor, and the plate about
their crotches seemed to emphasize the masculine organs that were hidden
there. I had no reason to expect it, but I felt at once like these men were
a sign of hope, who by virtue of their gender would naturally be on my
side. Or perhaps it is that I have always felt more at ease around those of
my own sex and longed to join them rather than to be in the hands of these
cruel women whose bodies were a mystery and their minds more so still.

It became clear that the men were not about to let the amazarii pass, and a
stand-off began almost immediately. Even before a word was spoken, the air
was so tense that I half expected someone to draw and attack at any moment,
though nobody so much as twitched their hands toward a weapon.

"Out of our way, Brothers," the female leader said, her voice straining
with false courtesy, "We act for our Queen."

"And we for our King," said one of the men calmly, "We claim the prisoner."

"By what right?" spat the Capitainne. "He is our quarry; we did the
hunting, not you."

"Strip him," said the man, "Remove his clothing."

The amazarii rumbled nervously.

"Go on," insisted the man, "What do you think you shall find, hanging below
his navel?"

The woman tapped her foot impatiently, "He is not of Fermanagh. You have no
jurisdiction."

"By law, all who enter here of the male sex are the subjects of my lord,
the King," the man said fervently, "no matter from whence they come. All
this you know. Shall I make it known amongst the men of Fermanagh that the
Queen and her subjects no longer respect the Rule of Two? If we brought a
woman here in chains, you would leave her in our hands?"

This seemed to rattle her, and I knew a thrill of hope. "My lady Queen
shall not be pleased."

"We act on orders from King Valen himself. She may direct her displeasure
at him, if it suits her." The words were spoken casually, but were dark
with threat.

The looks the amazarii women threw the men were so venomous that I
shuddered, and many of the men themselves flinched. Their leader, however,
remained unruffled. By this time a crowd of travelers and citizens had
surrounded us, making the exchange very public indeed. Perhaps it was for
this reason that the women had no choice but to relent. At last, the leader
of the women indicated with a jerk of her head, and my guards threw me to
the ground before the men.

"Take him, for now," she said, speaking loudly so all could hear, "For we
amazarii respect the Rule. But mark me, Commander, the Queen will not long
be denied her wishes."

The armored women walked past me, then, pushing their way through the men
without fear. As they faded into the crowd and then into the throngs of the
city, I was overcome with relief. A few of the men grabbed me and led me
into the city roughly, and I realized too late that, no matter the gender
of my guards, I was still a prisoner. Behind this came another, more
painful realization: my precious sword was still in the possession of the
women, and I was separated from it now, perhaps forever. So badly did I
feel this loss that I could scarcely bring myself to take in the wonders of
Fermanagh, whose buildings of stone and wood in various sizes rose up
around me now.

Indeed, of my journey through the throngs of the city I remember very
little. My guards led me through twists and turns, through busy
thoroughfares and deserted alleys, and each thing I saw so distracted me
from what I had just seen before that I could scarcely remember what it had
been, and in this way lost much of the journey from my memory. Fermanagh is
by no means the greatest of the great cities in our lands, not as densely
populated and sprawling as Carmathen nor as finely constructed as
fortress-like Broxbourne, and yet it is no country hamlet either; thousands
call it home. To me, it seemed so impossibly large and busy with motion and
movement that I grew dizzy, much like I had grown dizzy in confusion at the
rush of pleasure I had felt when I had first enjoyed Damon in the tomb. On
the other hand, the buildings of the city greatly obscured the open sky of
the plains, and I felt my anxiety (about that, at least) melting.

We came to a large square stone building surrounded by its own short wall
and dotted with patrols, dressed and armed exactly like my own guards.  As
I was led through the halls of this sparse building I saw barracks, with
rows and rows of bunks, eating halls, rooms stacked with weapons of various
kinds, and, after descending a small stone staircase, a dark dungeon of
many individual cells. Into one of these I was thrust, and the door closed
and the locked turned behind me. It was a small room, barely more than a
handful of steps wide, empty save for a pile of dirty straw in one
corner. The ceiling was high, and far up on one wall was a small barred
window which let in the only source of light.

I do not recall exactly how long I waited in this depressing little
room. My mind raced with thoughts of my predicament, and I could not stop
imagining how many other prisoners had lived in this little cell, and what
their crimes had been and what had become of them at last. Whether there
were other prisoners in other rooms in this very dungeon, as seemed
probable, I could not say for certain for I never heard any sound or
evidence of them. I paced the short length of the room, trying to plan out
not only an escape from my imprisonment, but also how I might recover my
sword and escape the city. It seemed impossible.

After some time, a heard a fluttering and turned to see, high up in my
little window, a bird land and perch itself on the other side of the
bars. But then it was not a bird, but a large spider, and it crawled
through the window and down the wall of my cell. I stared at it with sudden
understanding as it reached the floor and was quite suddenly Damon.

"Master!" he cried, embracing me, "Are you well?"

I brushed him off. "I'm fine, though no thanks to you. Where did you go?
Why did you leave me in the hands of those women?"

He flushed and hung his head. "Forgive me, Master. I thought it best that I
remained hidden, so I could come and rescue you later."

"What if they had killed me, Damon? We could have fought them, perhaps,
together."

"You overestimate my abilities in combat, Master. Besides, I am for your
eyes only."

I rubbed my temples with my fingers. "What does that mean?"

"It means that it is difficult and draining for me to been seen by others,
especially in this your chosen form. I am certainly real, as you well
know," (here he rubbed his hand across my chest) "but for other people I am
less real than for you. It takes energy for me to project myself into their
reality."

"Then what need had you to remain hidden at all?"

"I'm not invisible, Master. I can be seen and will be seen, but it drains
me. I prefer to remain hidden as a creature that would largely go
unnoticed. As for fighting, it is exhausting to become real enough to
another person that I can touch or harm them. You saw how it affected me to
distract the soldier outside the tomb. It's very complicated,
Master. Forgive me, I try to serve as best I can given my limitations." He
knelt and kissed my hands.

I sighed and raised him to his feet. "I'm not angry with you, only upset at
what has happened. I'm sorry that I was sharp with you. Only let's find a
way to get out of here."

He looked about to speak, but at that moment we heard footsteps ringing
through the dungeon accompanied by the jingling of keys. Without a word,
Damon became a rat and crawled into the dirty pile of straw. There was a
rattling at my door, and then it opened.

The man who entered was not particularly young, as I suddenly felt myself
to be, nor very old. He had seen more than thirty summers, and yet no more
than forty; a man, then, in the prime of his manhood. His hair was so fair
it was almost white and hung nearly to his shoulders. His noble, chiseled
features were framed by the lightest, shortest beard, which only further
enhanced his masculinity. Added to this were square, firm shoulders, a
stout chest, and strong, square hands. He was dressed in dirty, unkept
clothes that suited him as poorly as a woman's dress would, and covered him
much as a cloud covers the sun. I had been so long with Damon that I
thought myself accustomed to perfect beauty, and in truth I had wondered if
in comparison to my servant every other man would lose their
attraciveness. Yet now my eyes feasted upon the sight of this new visitor
in deep admiration. His features were not as perfect as Damon's, and yet
those very places of imperfection were fascinating to me. His maturity and
obvious nobility were at once appealing. He inspected me in return, and for
several moments we stood there in silence and stillness, each taking stock
of the other.

"Were you talking to yourself?" he asked at last, "I thought I heard
voices."

I did not know how to respond, so I said nothing.

"What is your name?"

"Markis," I said, trying to stand confidently.

"Well, Markis," he said, smiling, "You have caused quite a stir, I'm
afraid."

"I have meant no harm, nor did I intend to come to this place at all. I was
captured by warrior women on the road and led here against my will."

He nodded absently. "The amazarii brought you here?"

"Why do you ask me questions whose answers you already know?" I asked
suddenly. My frustration at being imprisoned was lashing out now. I cursed
myself for saying it, though, for I could bring myself to feel no ill will
to this handsome man and wanted him, irrationally, to like me.

At this he seemed surprised and laughed. "You are wrong, my friend. I did
not know your name, and I am glad to learn it. You must be hungry?"

I found that I was, and told him so. He opened the door and snapped his
fingers. There was a shuffling of feet, and then in stepped a woman bearing
a steaming bowl of something I could not identify but whose smell filled
the room with sweet, earthy aromas. The woman looked somewhat older than
me, with a large roundness of breast and hip, and wore only a trifling band
of rags about her nakedness. She stood, head bowed, offering the bowl to
me.

"I'll leave you to enjoy your meal," the older man said, "We'll speak again
later."

When he was gone, I took the proffered bowl from the buxom woman and began
to eat. The food was bright orange, with bits of brown and grey mixed in
here and there, and tasted at once sweet and savory. I had never tasted
anything like it, and I relished every bite.

"What is this?" I asked, absently, between mouthfuls.

"We call them sweet potatoes, lord," the woman said, speaking for the first
time, "mashed, with butter and spices."

"It's delicious."

She curtsied, a smooth, luxurious motion, "I am glad it pleases you, lord."

I had turned from her to finish off the last few scraps from the bowl when
I heard her speak again.

"Is there anything else I can do to please you, lord?"

I turned to tell her that I was quite satisfied, only to see with surprise
that she had removed the rags that were her covering and now stood quite
naked before me. Blood rushed to my cheeks, and I could not but remember my
shame when I had stood, naked myself, before my bride. When I had looked
upon her in our wedding ceremony, I felt had felt nothing - no desire, no
magic, no love other than what a brother might feel for his sister. This
woman, who I had scarcely met, could not even claim that last, and I turned
my head embarrassed both for myself and her.

"That is not necessary," I said, "Please."

She crossed to me and took my hands in hers. "It is alright," she said, "It
is allowed."

Before I could stop her, she placed my hands upon her breasts and caught my
eyes with hers. A twinkle in her pupils was fascinating, and I found I
could not look away. Her bosom felt round and firm beneath my hands. The
boys I had played with growing up had spoken often and longingly of wanting
to touch breasts precisely like these, I thought. Now, feeling them, I
still could not quite understand what was so appealing about them. They
made me think of mothers feeding their babes, and nothing of lust. And yet
I still found I could not look away from her gaze. I was locked to her, and
I found thoughts entering into my head that could never have been
mine. Thoughts that she, this woman next to me, was the most beautiful
thing I had ever seen. Thoughts of how intensely passionate and wonderful
it would be if I were to enter her. Thoughts that, through her, I could be
so much more a man that other men would envy and emulate me. Such thoughts
were as foreign to my nature as I could possibly imagine, and I recognized
them at once as intruders, but could not shrug them off.

In my mind I cast about desperately in panic, but realized that such
desperation made my will only the more weaker. Already I could feel the
stirrings of a lust that was not mine, binding me to this woman whose eyes
penetrated mine. Her scent filled my nostrils, musky and feminine, and my
vision went blurry except for the two gleaming dots of light in her eyes. I
focused my attention, then, on my true self. I recalled my name, the rites
of my village, my exile, and then Damon. I imagined Damon's nakedness, his
lean muscular frame and his narrow hips, and the sweetness of his manhood,
and I felt the seducing thoughts lose their power over me instantly. When I
had focused my attention enough upon thoughts of Damon's body, I found my
free will returning gradually to me, as though I had loosened a rope that
bound me enough to wiggle free from it. With a triumphant gasp, I turned my
face from hers and broke the connection. I felt her hands grope my crotch,
which was soft and unaroused.

"Impossible!" she shouted, and I pushed her quite roughly away. She
staggered back and fell onto the stone floor, dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me," I commanded.

"You cannot resist me," she said, confused.

"I can and have," I said, "You hold no power over me."

At once her pleasant features turned into a face of cruelty, and she hissed
at me wildly and launched herself from the ground. Her hands flashed
towards my face, where long nails sought, no doubt, to scratch my face and
eyes. I grabbed her wrist smoothly and twisted her, directing the energy
she had thrown against me past my body and away. She floundered and
collapsed at last upon the pile of straw, weeping. At that very moment, the
door to my cell flung open and two guards entered, rushing past me and
seizing the woman, who called out and struggled like a wailing banshee as
she was dragged from the room. Once she was gone, the man who had spoke to
me before entered. A servant (male, I was glad to see, and attractive)
followed behind him with a chair, which he placed and, leaving, closed the
door behind him.

The handsome man sat in the chair wearily and rubbed his eyes. He was quiet
for some moments, lost in thought. I tried to collect myself and process
what had just happened, and so decided I would not be the first to speak.

"My apologies," he said at last, "I did not believe she would attack you."

"You? You planned this?"

"Yes and no," he said, "It is difficult, but let me explain. What do you
know of our ways in Fermanagh, Markis?

"I heard the guards mention the Rule of Two - you have a King for men and a
Queen for women, yes?"

"Yes, but it goes deeper than that. The Rule is some few hundreds of years
old, but it arose as a compromise to settle a dispute that goes back much
farther. As long as we have history, the men and women of Fermanagh have
been at odds with one another. They have always existed as rival factions,
each wanting and desiring and yet hating and fearing the other."

"I saw many children in your city," I said.

"Yes, we have many marriages and couplings like any other part of the
world," he replied, "And yet here it is tradition that a happy marriage
should be a constant war between husband and wife, each wrangling for
power. I am married myself, officially, and yet it is nothing like a real
marriage and so I cannot say how well our tradition works. I suspect for
the lower orders of our city, it is quite manageable, but for those who sit
in the upper reaches of power, it is a game of life and death."

He shifted his weight and crossed one leg over the other.

"You see, Markis," he continued, "it is dangerous, but I have long allowed
women to act as servants in some of the lesser functions of my household. I
have long suspected that this particular servant woman who you just met was
in fact an agent of my wife's faction, a spy. Perhaps all women are - a
thought which at times seems quite paranoid and at others good
sense. Still, I do not fear the agents I suspect but the ones I do not, and
so I allowed her to continue to work here in this dungeon. I permitted her
to be alone with you, knowing she would try her seducing tricks on
you. Again, I apologize, but I had good reason. My wife desires me to turn
you over her. For some reason she is desperate for you, and in her
desperation there is an opportunity I cannot afford to miss - and I had to
know what kind of man you are. Forgive me, Markis, but I have great need of
your help. If I must at times do shameful deeds, it is always for the
greater good."

I knew him then, and fell to my knees in respect as seemed proper.

"Rise, rise," King Valen said, motioning me up with his hands, "That is not
necessary. You are a man, and therefore my responsibility while you are
within our city walls, and yet since this is not your home, I am not your
King and you owe me no fealty. What I ask of you, I ask as a favor, in
return for great rewards."

"And I will gladly aid you, Your Majesty, in whatever you ask. I need no
reward - but I would ask for your aid in return."

His eyes widened curiously, "My aid?"

"The amazarii who captured me took my sword. It is a precious relic,
ancient, and it is all I have left in the world. I ask your help in
retrieving it."

He nodded glumly, "I know of it. You have my word, I will help you as I
can. But now, I think, you must tell me of yourself. Who you are, how you
have come here, why the Queen seeks you so, and, not least, how you
resisted the spell of the she-witch who sought to entrap you with
desire. Few of my men could have resisted such trickery, myself included."

I sighed. "The last is perhaps the simplest to tell, though not the
easiest. I have no desire for women, and I never have despite my best
efforts." I hoped that would be enough and he would leave it there.

The king arched an eyebrow. "Never? Are you a eunuch?"

"No, Your Majesty. I am a man like any other, save in this." I gathered my
thoughts. How best to explain? "Before I left my village, I was to be
married to a woman of my people. Her name was Shara. She of all our women
was the most beautiful. With respect, I have not yet seen her equal here or
anywhere. We had known each other for many years, and much of that time we
had been promised to each other. It was my duty to love her, which I did in
my way and hoped to make her a good husband, but it was my duty to desire
her and mate with her, as well. In our marriage ceremony, right on the
verge of the act itself when we looked on each other's naked bodies at
last, I realized with certainty a truth that I had long tried to hide from
myself. I found no joy in her flesh, no desire for her in my heart. I felt
numb to the allures of all her kind, and thus it has always been. I knew
that for her sake and mine I could not marry her, and for that refusal to
live by the codes of my people I was exiled. I have since traveled quite
aimlessly, and that it how I came to be on the road when the warrior women
found me. Why your Queen should even know of me let alone seek after me, I
am at a loss to say."

Valen leaned forward. "You do no desire women. Markis, listen to me, this
is very important or I would not ask. If you are a man like any other, as
you say, and yet you do not desire women, then what do you desire?"

"Peace and solitude," I muttered feebly, but knew it was not the answer he
sought. "Your Majesty will pardon me, it is a disgrace for me to say it."

"You must," he said, "Or else, I'm afraid, this dungeon will become your
home, as it is for all those I cannot trust. Forgive me. The greater good."

I turned my face away. "Men." I said at last, "Men are what I desire."

There was a long pause, and the king's face was a mask revealing not even
the slightest reaction to this revelation. The walls of the cell were thick
enough to create a silence as deep and eerie as that in the tomb where I
had found Damon. I have found that in silence, much like in empty space
(which are but two ways of sensing the same thing - or rather, the same
absence of any thing), it is difficult to measure the passage of time. How
long I stood there before him while he pondered I cannot say. It felt like
days to me, days of agony. I could not in my shame say another word, and in
my head I screamed at him to say something, anything, rather than leave me
standing there wondering what he now thought of me.

"Well," he said at long last, "I have heard of such men as you. No doubt
there are some here in Fermanagh who call me king. I have never met one
face to face, at least that I know of."

"Nor I, Your Majesty," I said, surprised at the amount of bitterness in my
voice.

"I do not know why it never occurred to me before. It really is quite
perfect." He stood and paced, his thoughts racing faster than his tongue.

"Perfect?"

"Markis, my wife the Queen is determined to destroy me. What her ultimate
goal is, I cannot guess... unless it is to bring all the men of the city
under her domination. I can trust no women, for were I to come under the
power of a she-witch like the one you faced it would be the end of me and
my male subjects. But, in like manner, I can trust few men, for any might
fall prey to the women and become a double agent. In other lands, I've
heard women called the weaker sex, but I do not believe it. Indeed, I know
only too well how weak we men can be. Do you know, Markis, I have not lain
with a women in nearly ten summers now? The burden of royalty is heavy, and
especially for me."

"That doesn't seem fair," I said.

He waved my comment aside, "I have no choice, and I have learned to live
without such pleasures. It is my men I worry about, the ones closest to my
person. For my safety they too are to avoid joining with women, and I need
not tell you such strictures are bad for morale. It seems to me that a man
such as you is perfect, for you would have to give up nothing in my
service."

I must confess that this was not the way I expected the first person to
know of my unnatural desires (save Damon, who was in fact not a person) to
react, and I found I could only stare at him.

"Indeed," he said, "it seems rather too good to be true. You'll understand,
Markis, that I have long since come to believe that anything too good to be
true probably is. I'm not accusing you of lying, and yet for my own peace
of mind before I can send you to Queen I must be sure. A test, first, I
think. I must be certain what you claim is true."

"I have endured a test already," I said, fearing what was to come, "by
repelling that woman's advances."

"A exceptionally strong-willed man of any sort might have accomplished as
much by chance," he said, "But my Queen is a more powerful seductress than
any of her agents. If you are truly a man who may be immune to her skills,
I must know for certain."

He opened the door and whispered a name into the hallway. Immediately the
servant who had brought the chair entered the room. He was a younger man,
though probably older than myself, with a handsome face and a lean, skinny
frame. He wore plain, clean clothes and spectacles (devices of which I had
heard but never seen worn). His hair was yellow, like many of the men I had
seen in the city, and he wore a neat, short goatee.

"Cedrik is my personal clerk," the king said, "Cedrik, how long since you
have enjoyed a woman?"

The man shifted uncomfortably, "Since I entered your service, Majesty, some
four or five summers now."

"Do you miss it?"

Cedrik hesitated briefly. "Serving your Grace is my highest pleasure... But
sometimes I do, yes."

"Remove your trousers."

"Your Majesty!" Cedrik protested, taking a step back.

"It is an order from your king, clerk," Valen's voice was resolute and
final.

The clerk, his face nearly as red with embarrassment as mine, began to undo
the belt around his waist. He had not risen to his position of
responsibility in the kingdom by disobeying his king, and he would not do
so now it seemed. His grey trousers now lay bunched about his ankles,
revealing plain smallclothes underneath barely large enough to cover his
sacred organs.

"I require your assistance in a test of this man's loyalty, Cedrik," the
king said soothingly, "Will you trust me?"

The clerk could only nod. King Valen turned now in my direction.

"Now, exile from the wood," he said, "My clerk is a handsome young man much
in need of relief from the torments of his life of celibacy. Pleasure him,
show me your true desire for him, and you will have earned the trust and
friendship of a king. Together, then, we may foil whatever my Queen has
planned and reclaim your stolen sword."

I heard a rustling in the pile of straw, and knew that Damon, in hiding
there, was watching all of this. How would he react to this strange turn of
events? Jealousy? Admiration? Apathy? I did not know him well enough to be
sure, and felt in fact that I could never truly know him even were he to
continue as my companion for many years. Valen was looking at me
expectantly.

The sword. I had to have it back. It was important, I knew that, though for
what and in what way I could not say. More, it was the symbol of a heritage
that had been taken from me, a last relic of an old, forgotten life. Damon
had said I was the Crown Prince of the long-dead nation of Anatheria, and
with that sword in my hand I could almost believe him. It was much, much
easier to face the dangers of the world as a prince than as a simple
wretched outcast. To what lengths would I go to retrieve it? What
humiliation would I endure to hold it in my hands once more? I stood up
straight -- I would not be ashamed. If this must be done, I told myself, I
will do it proudly and without shame, and let the king see it on my face. I
crossed to Cedrik slowly. As I approached, I studied his face. He was
biting his lower lip nervously, and yet there seemed to be some longing in
his eyes. He was not unattractive, and in other circumstances I could have
felt myself quite drawn to him. I noticed already that the lump in his
smallclothes was large and growing larger, and knew that the rest was now
inevitable.

I drew the smallclothes down his legs to join his trousers, and then slowly
dropped to my knees. His phallus, already pointing stiffly towards the
ceiling, was not so large as Damon's, and yet it looked quite alluring in
its own right and of just the right proportion to his smaller frame. I had
longed for an opportunity to put into practice the skills I had learned
from Damon's mouth on me, and now, it seemed, fate had provided an
opportunity far sooner than I could have imagined. Tentatively, I extended
my tongue and licked its tip, curious as to what it would taste like. He
gasped softly above me, and I savored the salty sweetness on my tongue for
a moment. What had started as a necessity was now becoming a pleasure, for
my own body began to react with desire and, for a moment, I could almost
forget that I was being watched in this most intimate act by a man of royal
blood.

I took him into my mouth, shaping my lips and using my tongue as Damon had
often done on me. I found I was too eager, at first, and nearly gagged. I
soon learned to breathe continually through my nose to prevent this, a
technique I had not observed from my servant -- indeed, it occurs to me now
as I write this that it is likely Damon did not need to breathe at
all. Cedrik tried to hold back a moan, but it escaped with just enough
force to reach my ears. I took it as a cue to increase the intensity of my
motion and the movements of my tongue, reaching up with one hand to his
waist to steady himself to me and with the other to caress his legs and
dangling parts.

I was prepared to continue my work for as long as it took to bring him
relief, and threw myself into the work. It cannot be said, looking back
over the events of my life thus far, that I ever did anything with less
than my full attention and effort. If a man may count the few victories he
has achieved over himself in his life, then this is one of mine. I found
the task of bringing pleasure to another man as entrancing as I had always
believed, even though I felt nothing for this stranger whose organ was now
filling my mouth. It was mechanical, or nearly. I sank into a state of
concentration much like any craftsman, like a blacksmith repairing a
horseshoe who is satisfied with a job well done. And yet there was more
than this, for within my trousers I felt the straining of desire for
release that surely no blacksmith felt from his work.

Cedrik let out a single, short yelp. My task took even less time than I had
anticipated. The clerk grabbed my head and pumped his hips, and I struggled
to swallow it all. The alternative (spitting it out, perhaps, or
withdrawing before the release began) did not even occur to me, since at
the time my only experience in such matters had been with Damon who, for
reasons of his own, always received my seed with great enthusiasm. It was
clear that neither the clerk nor the king expected it, however, for as I
pulled away from his rapidly shrinking organ I saw that their eyes were
wide with surprise.

"It has been so long," Cedrik muttered.

The king stood. "I am satisfied. You approached your task with a sincerity
that could not be feigned. Cedrik will show you to more suitable
accomodations. We will speak more tomorrow. For now, rest. Excuse me." He
was gone in a moment, and I stared after him with mixed emotion.

"You have earned his trust," Cedrik said.

"It would seem so," I said, forcing myself to look at the clerk without
embarrassment.

He extended his hand, and helped me to my feet.

"May I ask a favor of you?" The clerk's eyes were tense, insistent.

I smiled and sighed. "I believe I have already done one for you. Right now
I'd like to rest, please."

"Of course, we will speak of it later. Let me show you to your room."

I coughed politely. "Don't you want to get dressed first?"

He looked down at his fallen trousers in surprise, "Oh, of course, forgive
me."

I turned my back politely while he did so, though I knew the gesture was
absurd given the situation. Facing away from him, I could see clearly the
pile of straw. A large rat poked its head out from underneath it and, just
before I turned to leave with Cedrik, winked at me and scuttled back into
hiding.

***It took longer to finish this chapter than I planned, due to
distractions in my life. The next one should be up sooner, I hope. If you
enjoy this story and want more, please let me know. It really helps to keep
me motivated. Thanks to all who have contacted me already! Please keep in
touch now and then, I'd love to hear your responses to how the story
progresses. Thanks everybody. "thephallocrat@gmail.com"***