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From: Bud Red <redbud@inbox.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Parable - by Redbud
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Date: Fri, 01 Feb 2008 19:10:02 -0500
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[Dear reader, this absurd story was found in an attic chest.  It is
obviously a translation but I cannot locate the original.  The hand-written
paper seems to date from the early to mid-eighteenth century and was
translated by one Mary Wroth Piercepenny.  I have cleaned up the prose
where necessary though mistakes may remain.  The original was archly
Victorian and antiquated in style.]

   Parable



   Our island is split into two parts, as far as I know.  I grew up only
knowing one part, the part where there were only others like myself: women.
As a young girl I would watch those only a little older than me whisper
among themselves and talk of what lay on the other half.  These were the
ones who had never been there.  Some time during the year, one among them
would go, and then another, and then another.

   Most would not come back.  Some did.  Of those that did, they would not
speak of what they had seen or what they had done or rather (as I was to
learn later) what had been done to them.  I observed that, of those who
returned, some would soon grow big with child whereas others did not.  Many
of them seemed ashamed.  Only a very few were not.  When I would ask them
what they saw, these women would only smile at me and say the others were
being silly.  They pat my head and told me nobody made them go and nobody
would make me go.  Indeed, some women did not go, saying they found
everything they wanted in the women they were with.

   This only made me all the more curious.  What a strange thing.  As a
child, I had no desire to go to this other part of the island which
elicited such strange reactions.  As I grew older, however, the secret
seemed unbearable to me.  This became especially so when a friend with whom
I had grown up went to this other part, making me promise I would tell no
one.  She did not return for two days and the guilt of my knowledge was
apparent to everyone.  I said nothing.

   She returned on the evening of the second day.  When I asked were what
she had seen she kissed me on my cheek, saying nothing.  The kiss was
tender.  I resolved to spy on her that night.  Imagine my horror.  When I
peered through the door of her hut I saw her moaning, her hands
mysteriously between her legs.  Then, my friend who had always been so tall
and willowy, so graceful and statuesque, climbed from her bedding to kneel
like an animal on her hands and knees.  She placed her cheek on the earth,
arched her back so that her nether regions were obscenely displayed, and
continually moved her fingers between her legs until she shuddered and
moaned, whereupon she remained in this wretched position, her hips
convulsing until she finally exhaled and moaned.

   I resolved to discover what had reduced my childhood friend to such an
abject, subservient posture.  What could have been done to her to make her
display herself so shamefully like an animal.  The next week, I too went
out to discover this other part of the island.  I took my spear for
protection.

   I had walked through the jungle for most of the day and just when I
thought I had walked this far in vain, I saw another hunter within a
spear's throw, but this hunter looked nothing like myself or any of the
women I had known.  There were others with the hunter, but it was this
first hunter that captivated me..  The other hunters retreated, having seen
me, seeming to suddenly defer to this hunter.  I could not guess at the
reaso.  This hunter's chest lacked breasts, his shoulders were broader than
my own, and he was taller.  I noted that he moved with less grace than
myself.  Perhaps not with less grace, but with a different kind of grace -
less fluid but more powerful.  I was mesmerized by this creature so like
and unlike me.  I was spellbound by his eyes and mouth and hands.

   He put down his spear and I raised mine.  He approached me confidently.
I kept my spear raised.  I confess that I was confused, and so I allowed
him to approach too closely.  He brushed my spear aside and touched my
face. Was this the hunter that so shamed everyone?  His hands moved to my
neck and then my shoulders.  I made no move.  Then his hands moved slowly
to my breasts.  I realized then that I was as new to him as he was to me.
My breathing quickened.  I recalled that only a few women returned from
this journey.  Why hadn't he speared me?  Was I not what he was hunting? 
His thumbs brushed lightly over my nipples, which stood at his touch, then
down my stomach.  I inhaled sharply for no woman had touched me like this.
His hands moved over my hips, so different from his own.  His fingers moved
deftly and my loin cloth fell to the earth between my feet.

   I stood naked but I was prepared to struggle violently.  The strange
hunter stepped away.  He peered at me.  Curious.  Seemingly as enthralled
as I was.  Confused.  His hands moved to his own loin cloth and he deftly
undid them.  I gasped.  A great spear sprung erect from between his legs. I
had been tricked!  I saw that he gazed fixedly where my own loin cloth had
been.  Fear coursed through me.  I turned and ran.  These strange hunters
carried their spears hidden!

   I ran but this hunter, so like and unlike myself, was faster and more
powerful.  He pursued me vigorously.  Strangely, my fear was also tinged
with an excitement I didn't understand.  I had never been pursued like
this. Memories of my own hunting returned to me - the boars, birds and the
swift and slender deer.  Was I like one of these deer to him?  I would
elude him.

   Yet my breaths became ragged and though he was winded too, he was
faster. I stumbled and he stumbled after me.  The leaves and stems of the
jungle lashed us both until I finally could bear no more.  It seemed that
we had run twice around the island.  I collapsed onto my hands and knees,
struggling to breath, hoarse with breathing.  I had not eluded him.  Is
this how the deer felt?

   I heard the hunter approaching me from behind.  I tried to catch my
breath and run again, but only stumbled once more onto my hands and knees.
I was exhausted.  I glanced back at him and saw him approach me, taking his
spear in one hand as it rose upward from between his legs, easily exceeded
the length of his grip.  For the first time I tasted a kind of excitement I
had never imagined.  I had always been the victor but, I was discovering,
there was a different kind of excitement in defeat.  The blood rushed in my
ears.

   The hunter fell to his knees behind me.  He twined one hand in my hair.
Let him slay me, I decided with a kind of dignity, knowing now what the
exhausted animal must feel.  He had bested me but I would be worthy.  I
felt him pull my head upward, baring my throat.  He pushed my knees apart,
opening my soft underbelly.  I struggled but the hunter only pulled
backward until I moaned, abased before him on my hands and knees.  I
resigned myself to death.  It was then that I felt something hot brush my
thighs and belly.  His spear!  I felt the length of it slide between my
legs and the very top touch my belly button.  I jumped at the unexpected
touch but the hunter held me, his hand still in my hair.

   I next felt the tip drawn back and then placed against me, at the base
of my belly, just between my legs.  He pushed.  I cried out!  The tip of
his spear had pierced me at the base of belly, between my thighs!  I could
not breath.  How could it be?  Where was this place where he could pierce
into my body?  I felt no pain.  He partly withdrew and then drove his
weapon upward again, mysteriously, further into the softness of my belly. I
keened and began to struggle as I felt the spearhead somewhere inside me,
the width of it stretching my thighs at its base.  He tugged my head
backward and I realized how this forced me to arch and present my soft
belly.  The pain of this spear, of this death, was a kind a had never felt
before.  I gasped.  I had not understood that there was a kind of pleasure
in death.  I felt him withdraw, then thrust his spear once more sharply
upward, and I froze with a sharp intake of breath.  I was fully impaled on
the hunter's spear.  The tip felt as though it were buried in my breast. 
Had his spear created this opening into my body?  Would the wound between
my legs heal and close?

   Again he withdrew and again he drove into my body...  again and again.
My mouth opened as I felt the widening, exiting and widening between my
thighs and the prodding deeply inside me (for what, I didn't know).  I felt
the strange pleasure of the animal who finally surrenders.  How strange,
when one has always been the hunted, to be spitted by another's spear! 
Then it occurred to me that this was how an animal is spitted, the spear
driven upward between its legs, into the softness of its core.  A sudden
shame overcame me.  Let him spear me through my heart but not like this! 
But again, my resolve to struggle came too late.  As though sensing my
desire to flee, he drove himself deeply into my body and held me like this.

   I suddenly was filled with shame.  I opened my legs wider wishing to
hasten my death.  He withdrew, only to drive his spear more and more deeply
into me until I cried out, shamefully with every thrust of his weapon. 
Soon, my breasts heaved and I twisted under him as a boar in its death
throes, having no dignity.  My back arched and twisted, my hips rose and
fell with his, my breasts seemed to swell as he continued to pierce my
belly.  I struggled but he held me firmly, thrusting his spear into me as
though (if he only thrust into my body enough) he would finally spear the
life in me, subduing me.  My nipples were afire and stood stiffly.  Though
my will burned, my body suddenly trembled and began its own surrendering.
How strange!  After so much prodding, he had found the place deep in my
body, a place I had never knew of, and repeatedly impaled me there.  There.
And there again.

   I breathed and I swallowed, I breathed and I swallowed.  My death
approached.  I struggled but the more I struggled the more he thrust. 
There.  Right there.  There.  He found it.  Over and over again, he speared
it -- my will.  He impaled it again and again.  I felt my will's death
throes rising upward through my belly, my spine, into my swelling breasts.
My throat grew tighter and tighter.  I could not breath.  My body grew
stiff.  Then he thrust hard, as if he knew this last thrust would finally
spear the trembling in my soft belly.  I cried out (or screamed),
convulsing around the spear that pierced me from behind.  As if my body
were making one last effort to expel this weapon, I could feel my opening
clench, release, clench and release helplessly around the width of the
spear.  But my body's efforts were too feeble.  I spasmed as a dying
animal--spitted--the spear in place.  My eyes rolled upward and my
exhalation was a prolonged moan.  The hunter let go of my hair.  I
collapsed, my cheek against the earth, defeated, his spear still embedded
in my body.

   At last I felt him withdraw.  I fell to the earth and turned onto my
back.  I saw the hunter's spear still erect.  He lowered himself above me
and I felt it brush my thighs and belly.  He gazed at my breasts and belly,
as one appraising his kill.  Then I saw him move stealthily, feeling him
place his weapon carefully between my legs again.  His spear was large. 
This time I could see his weapon entering me and was astonished that so
large a weapon could be lodged between my thighs and so far inside me.  I
groaned.  He raised himself, rearing back, then drove forward.  I cried out
as I watched his weapon disappear into my belly again.

   The girth drove my legs wider and I once more wondered at how easily he
had penetrated me.  When would he cease?  He had won.  And yet he speared
me just as a hunter will spear a bear again and again to be sure it is
dead. I moaned with his thrusts, continually.  I could not surrender any
more.  Then, to my confusion, a terribly pained look disturbed his gaze. 
He thrust his spear deeply and sharply into me, holding himself there.  I
twisted beneath him as his body stiffened.  Then he moaned, shook and
convulsed as if the throes of death had taken him also- his weapon inside
me convulsing.  How could this be?  He remained like this, his eyes closed,
his convulsions slowly subsiding.  Finally, with one great exhalation, the
hunter rolled aside and onto his back.

   I could have escaped.  I lived.  Yet why did I not want to?  The same
curiosity that had imperiled me by coming to this part of the island, now
kept me at this hunter's side, my hands above me and my legs fully open. 
Had I wanted this?  I gazed at the darkening treetops above me.  I had not
died.  Night had fallen and we were lit by the moonlight.  Finally, the
hunter sat up.  I saw that the hunter's spear was now soft and glistened
with dew.  I marveled.  My hunter was strangely beautiful.  My legs
remained apart for him.  I touched the place his spear had opened between
my legs.  Wetness issued from there and I thought it must be blood but I
saw none.  Instead, a clear and whitish fluid issued from my body.  Such a
strange wound, I thought to my self.

   Then I felt my will trembling like a fish deep in my belly.  Wounded. 
But I strangely wanted him to spear it again.  I desired the throes of
death again.  He gazed there, oddly pleasing me, only to quietly rise and
leave me.  Was I no longer desirable?  What hunter would leave his quarry
after such a struggle?  Perhaps he had done to me what he must have done to
so many other women.  However, because I was not certain where I was, I
closed my eyes to sleep.

   In time, I heard footsteps and I quickly crouched, ready to defend
myself.  It was my hunter.  He smiled at me, which disarmed me, and sat
down across from me.  He laid down fronds for me to sleep on.  My hunter
watched me, not with the same gaze with which he had first observed me (not
with the wild stare of one who has spotted his prey) but like one who gazes
at a flower.  But not like a flower, like someone who has caught something
he has especially wanted before remembering.  He gazed at me like no one
ever had.  He appraised every part of me: my hips, my breasts, my legs, my
buttocks, the place between my legs, my lips and eyes.  There was nothing
that he did not miss and again I found that I enjoyed his gaze.  I did not
wish to lie down.  I too gazed at him, noticing all the differences between
us.

   When his gaze finally settled on that opening between my legs, I saw the
spear affixed between his legs begin to harden.  I could not take my eyes
from it.  It grew in girth and length until it stood up from his belly --
impossibly large again.  My own breathing quickened.  I feared the size of
it, but there was also something that wasn't fear.  Still, I turned and lay
down on my belly, facing away from him.  I suddenly did not wish to be
impaled again.  I desired sleep and sleep quickly overtook me.

   When I awoke it was not morning.  I was still on my belly.  I felt his
presence above me.  I dared not move.  It was then that I felt the heat of
his body brush my buttocks.  I knew it was his weapon.  I felt it brush
downward until the tip of it was at the backs of my thighs.  I must have
opened my legs in my sleep, stirring the hunter's spear.  I briefly
marveled at how this opening between my legs so inflamed the hunter.  Then
I felt the girth of his spear between my thighs.  I could not conceal my
breath.  I felt the sudden urge to fly.  Yet he was faster and stronger
than I.  Should I wrestle with him?  Then I felt the tip of his weapon
against the opening he had already made.  Did he think the wound would heal
if he did not pierce it again?  I dug my fingers into the soil and at that
moment I felt his weapon open me.  This time he did not stop pushing his
spear into me until the fullness and depth of the penetration forced me to
cry out.

   I felt him slowly withdraw.  Is this all that he would do?  Then he
drove fully forward again.  I cried out again.  He kept himself thus,
deeply inside me, without moving.  I clawed at the soil, twisted on the
hardness that pierced me, unable to escape it.  The little fish, my will,
trembled in my belly; then, as I struggled I myself drove it upon the end
of his spear.  I froze.  But my hunter knew he had pierced that part of me
and began thrusting in me again and again.  I twisted but what could I do?
My will had been spitted on the end of his spear.  I cried out like a bird
with each piercing.

   The hunter's efforts soon grew more determined.  I felt my breasts swell
and my nipples harden against the rubbing leaves.  Why had nature made me
this way?  - allowing such a hunter to pierce me again and again until I
surrendered my will to him?  There.  There.  Where nothing had ever prodded
before, the tip of him drove unerringly.  I twisted, clawed at the earth
and writhed beneath him.  Images of animals in their death throes clouded
my mind, speared and panting.  I gasped, confused, again desiring to be at
the end of his spear.  I wished to escape and also wished he would quell me
with one great thrust.

   I arched my back, in my struggles, and it was then that his spear so
fully pierced my soft belly that my body stiffened at once.  My mouth fell
open.  I could not breath.  The hunter held himself deeply in my upturned
belly, his hands on my hips.  The fluttering in my belly had been speared
through.  I felt the death throes spread at once through my loins and
breasts.  I moaned and the convulsions deep in my belly spread to the whole
of my body.  I opened my legs and belly to him, possessed by him,
surrendering to him, once again.  He no longer needed to hold my hips, his
piercing having done its work.

   I remembered my friend, trembling on her hands and knees.  I groaned, my
voice punctuated by his renewed thrusts.  At last, I felt him stiffen above
me.  He gripped my hips and I felt his weapon convulsing.  We both cried
out.  The pangs of death came upon me again, suddenly and unexpectedly. 
When at last he rolled from me I reached down to that opening in which his
weapon had been sheathed to again feel a thick heavy fluid flowing out of
me.  What was this strange fluid that my body surrendered?  I brought the
liquid to my lips and took it in my mouth.  It tasted of salt.  I saw that
he gazed at me.

   In the morning I was dirty, having been pinned to the earth both on my
back and on my belly, the hunter having slain me twice.  I had only just
stood when the hunter reappeared.  He held fruit and vegetables, offering
them to me.  He smiled and again this disarmed me.  I sat and I ate.  As he
gazed at me what little fear remained began to dissipate.  The juices of
the fruits ran down my neck and breasts.  He stared at my breasts and
between my thighs.  Though his spear did not rise, my nipples rose and
hardened.  He seemed to stare at me as one stares at a seashell that is
especially beautiful.  I strangely desired his gaze now, relishing his
gaze, having been frightened of it only yesterday.  No one had ever stared
at me as this hunter did.  A moisture dampened my thighs and it was not
from the juice of eating.  I struggled not to lie down upon the earth and
open my legs to him, to let him see this dampness soaking my thighs, to let
him see that I desired his gaze.

   And yet, at once feeling possessed by his stare, a new feeling came over
me.  I suddenly felt as if I were the possessor, for he could not take his
eyes from me.  I stood and began walking to where I thought the ocean was.
I needed to bathe.  I stopped sometimes to stretch, relishing the effect my
body had upon the hunter, strangely excited by being the prey.  I saw that
if I stooped sometimes, as if to pick up some distraction (bending over
before him) so that the opening to my underbelly was revealed to him, his
spear would rise and harden.  I remained so once, as if unable to find some
pebble.  I saw my hunter's spear harden and saw him approach me from
behind, taking his spear in hand With an effort of will I stood, my nipples
hard and my thighs moist.  I saw that this was a dangerous game!  Even as
he fell under my spell, I too fell under his.  I almost did not stand.  I
felt his hand on my back, as if to bend me over again, but I acted as
though I had not felt him and walked ahead, for I knew he intended to spear
me between my legs again.

   At last we came to water.  I at once dove in.  The hunter smiled and sat
at the edge of the water.  I swam and bathed myself and as I cleaned I saw
his gaze fall again and again upon my breasts, belly, hips and legs.  His
spear jutted from his belly and finally, as a panther that knows the time
to strike, he strode toward me.  Only now I remembered what my mother once
had always told me.  When faced by a wild animal, it is sometimes better
not to run.  As the hunter walked toward me, his spear full and stiff, I
walked toward him.  As he reached for me I reached for him.  I took hold of
his spear in both hands.  This surprised him.  His hands fell on my own but
I did not let him go.  This was the first time I had felt him.

   His spear felt heavy and hot.  I touched the tip and the hunter
trembled. I moved my hand over the tip again and again he trembled.  Then I
pulled on the skin with my other hand until it covered the tip of him.  The
hunter groaned and my curiosity was aroused.  I took hold of the sack
beneath his spear with my free hand and felt two nuts inside it.  I
squeezed and the hunter flinched, unmistakably pained by what I had done.
With my other hand, however, I caused him to moan as I slowly moved the
skin of his spear back, revealing the tip again.  I squeezed his sack once
again, if only to avenge his having impaled me twice already, and this
seemed to subdue him.  I was the hunter again.

   Still holding his spear, I pushed him backward until he sat in the
shallow water leaning back on his hands.  I knelt down with him and I
continued to pull and tug on his spear, exploring it, holding it, and
squeezing it until a smooth and syrupy whiteness glistened from its tip. 
The hunter groaned loudly and lay back in the water.  I lowered my lips to
the tip of him, tasting him, and then knew that this was the fluid with
flowed from my belly, which he wished to drive into me again.

   My own nipples hardened at this thought and again I felt my own moisture
wetting my thighs.  I was aroused.  I was the hunter again.  Against his
will I was drawing this liquid from him!  I would force him to spill it!  I
drew him into my mouth and this seemed to draw the greatest moans from him.
I did this for some time until I saw his body stiffen and I recognized the
onset of his death throes.  I did not cease but pushed and pulled at his
spear, keeping my mouth around him.  I would draw this fluid from him as
the panther draws blood from her victim's neck.  He twisted and arched and
moaned but I did not let him out of my mouth.  Finally he cried out and
stiffened.  I still held him in my mouth until his death throes began. 
Fluid burst from his spear.  It struck my face and breasts and it fell on
his own belly in long white strings that issued forth with every spasm.  At
last, seemingly exhausted, the hunter was still again.  I let go of his
spear and watched a last weak spasm drop more of the whitish fluid on his
belly.

   It was then, I knew, that I would not return home.

   I wished to be the hunter.

   And I wished to be the hunted.

   I knew I wanted to draw this death from him again.

   I knew he wanted to drive his spear into my belly again.

   I lay down next to him but I could not rest.  The place between my legs
ached.  I myself desired his spear within me.  I would not let his fluid go
to waste again.  It was mine.  It belonged to me.  I was restless.  I felt
between my legs and felt a slickness and moisture such as I had never felt
before.  I moaned.  I heard my hunter stir and I continued to touch myself,
moaning again.  I knew what to do.  I opened my legs so the he could see my
opening.  My legs were open to him, my body awaiting him, and it was then
that I saw his weapon rise.  I slipped my own finger inside myself, in
imitation of his spear, and saw that his weapon had become large and stiff
again.  I had ensnared him -- my prey.  If he thought to rise up, I was
quicker.  I sat up and straddled his belly, my hands on his shoulders.

   I held him there.  I slid on his belly, on the moisture between my
thighs.  When I pushed backward I felt his spear between my buttock.  We
moaned together.  I did not wish him to spend his fluid unless it was in
me. My hunter's fluid belonged to me.  Gazing in his eyes, I lifted myself
until the place between my thighs that led into my belly was over his
spear. I lowered myself until I felt the tip of him touching me.  I saw
that he groaned and that his eyes rolled upward.  I would take this liquid
from him.  It was then that I knew he could not stop me.  I knew then what
he must have felt in mastering me.

   I lowered myself and took his instrument into my belly, trapping him
there.  He twisted, groaning, and this aroused me greatly.  Just as there
had been nowhere for me to go when he had impaled me, now there was no
where for him to go.  I held the part of his body fully in my own and I
would not let him go until he had surrendered his juices to me.

   I soon found what motions elicited the greatest cries from him.  I moved
up and down and slid back and forward.  The hunter began to pant and this
only caused me to increase the speed with which I moved .  Yet soon my own
cries were joining his.  In my haste to force from him his own death, I
only drove his spear more deeply into my own belly!  My legs clenched and
my breath caught as a spasm gripped me.  I had not expected this!  I
stopped, but suddenly the hunter drove himself upward into me.  I gasped.
The hunter took hold of my hips and drove upward again, the tip of him deep
in my body.  I knew if I let him continue thus, he would pierce my own
fluttering will first.

   I knew what I must do.  I must force his surrender first.  I at once
begin to move again.  He groaned and his hands moved to my breasts.  I had
not expected this and did not understand why until he held and pinched my
nipples.  I gasped and another spasm shook me deeply where the tip of his
spear probed me.  Still, I struggled to draw his juices from him and forced
him to groan and arch beneath me as I began to squeeze him with the muscles
of my opening.  The hunter tugged at my nipples again.  My voice became one
long moan punctuated by the thrusting and squeezing of my own body.  I
began to feel my own surrendering as he speared my belly more and more
deeply.  I would lose this struggle.

   Desperate, I again squeezed that part of his body that was trapped in my
own and ground myself upon him.  I fully surrendered my body, naked and
gasping, in order to force his own surrendering.  I was trembling and began
crying out as I felt my belly giving way.  Suddenly I saw the hunter
stiffen and arch.  I long groan escaped him as he twisted beneath.  My own
body stiffened.  I struggled to remain atop him, to take him, to hold off
my own death throes.  My hunter spasmed violently and I felt the first
burst of his juice fill me.  I began to move again to force the rest from
him, I had won, and yet that first burst of fluid had done its work.  The
first convulsion overtook my own body, archly jolting my back and neck,
just as more of the hunter's juice burst into my belly.  We convulsed
together, each crying out and each moaning as our bodies surrendered to
each other.

   At last, I collapsed atop him.  His juices running down my thighs from
that place wherein his spear was still lodged.  He belonged to me.  He was
my hunter.

   He did not penetrate me again that night, and yet he did finally pierce
my heart.  His touch, his lips, his eyes, and most of all, his little
kindnesses.  These are what pierced my heart.  When he kissed me, I knew he
valued me more than any of his possessions.  And I knew I valued him above
any of my own.  I was mesmerized by him just as when I first saw him.  His
every movement enthralled me.  I watched him walk naked that night and knew
that by the next day his juices would fill my belly.  I knew that I would
cause his spear to harden, even perhaps against his will.  I only had to
walk before him, to bend forward, or draw his gaze to my breasts.  I hunted
him.  But my hunting was not like his.  He pursued his quarry.  I enticed
my quarry to fall into my net.

   When he slept with me that night, behind me, and pressed against my
body, my thighs were slick with my desire to be pierced.  I began to turn
and move my buttocks against him.  Finally, I felt his weapon harden
against my buttocks and I heard him groan.  I placed his hand upon my
breast and he squeezed and tugged at my nipples causing my back to arch and
my legs to open.  My hunter thirsted for me as well.  His first thrust
speared me to the depths of my belly.  I grunted and my own moan was joined
by his.  His next thrusts followed quickly.  And then for the first time he
touched me in that place where he speared me.  The unexpected touch caused
me to inhale sharply.  I immediately recalled my dear friend, her fingers
moving rapidly between her legs.  I recalled her own death throes and,
remembering her, I was suddenly overtaken by my own convulsions.  I could
utter nothing though my mouth was wide open.  I could do nothing.  My death
throes rendered me helpless, nipples hard, back arched, legs opened like a
pierced animal.  The hunter cried out and I could do nothing but to let his
liquid pour into me.  Yes, his juice filled my belly before the next day.

   After this I learned that our island was really split into three parts.
I could not go back to my old home and neither could he.  We began our
journey to our new home and for the first time we hunted together.  At
first it seemed that we had forgotten how to hunt.  If I moved through the
forest ahead of him, he could not take his eyes from me.  He watched my
hips and my swaying breasts.  His spear would grow rigid and make his
movements awkward.  The wetness that glistened on my thighs only made my
own movements more languid.  I could not help but bend as though I meant to
stalk my prey.  I could not help but reveal my opening as I walked ahead of
him.  My breathing would become shallow knowing that I had become the prey.
Once when we had reached a clearing, I saw my hunter pause to pee.  The
site of his proud spear only aroused me further.  He saw that I gazed at
him and he began to run his hand back and forth along its length.  I knew
by his gaze that, before we had left the clearing, my belly would be filled
and thighs dripping with his white juices.  In my shyness, I turned away
from him and squatted because I also had to pee.  I heard him groan as I
did so.

   I did not expect that he would be aroused by this.  I had only begun to
pee when my hunter stealthily approached me and took me by my hair.  I
forced me quickly onto my hands and knees, still peeing, and with one
thrust speared me to the depth of my belly.  I cried out loudly.  And in my
confusion I could not stop peeing!  His thrusts were swift and deep, as if
to show me that he could pierce my belly at any time, that this opening
between my thighs was for him, and that my belly was to be filled by his
juices at any moment.  I heard my hunter cry out, his own death throes
consuming him.  Even as my pee emptied from me, my belly was being filled.
Never did I feel more like the animals.  I gazed ahead, sightlessly, mouth
agape.  He shook my body with his every death throe until he pulled my head
back to drive his last fluid as deeply between my legs as his spear could
be driven.  My own death throes overtook me suddenly and violently.  I
could feel my opening clench, release and clench the immovable weapon that
pierced it.  The last of my pee emptied from me in spurts, and the last of
his spurts emptied into my belly.  I heard my hunter groan and let me go.
My thighs were streaked with his juices and mine as they dribbled out of
me. I remained subdued like this, my legs open, the entrance to my belly
upward and presented to him.  And then he took me again and filled me
again. Still, I stayed like this and he filled me a third time.

   Sometimes, after we had coupled, his spear might still be rigid.  He
would pee and the little fish in my belly would tremble remembering our
time in the clearing.  Once, knowing that it was his time, I crouched in
front of him, gazing up at him.  His spear hardened seeing me before him. I
took hold of his spear and, still gazing up at him, let go of my
liquids.After the patter of my urine ceased, his spear had grown impossibly
rigid.  I pointed it over my shoulder and his own liquid streamed forth.  I
held and aimed it, imagining what it must be like to have such a thing
attached to ones body (later I would stand behind him and hold him while he
emptied himself, imagining that I was like him).

   When he had emptied himself the last of his liquid fell on my shoulder
and dripped over my back and breasts.  My hunter groaned.  I moved my hand
around his spear, sliding the wonderfully soft skin slid back and forward.
Now I wished to know if his white juice issued from the same place.  He
touched my lips with his finger, brushing them lightly.  My lips parted and
he pressed his finger inside.  I moaned, also aroused.  He removed his
finger and his spear quickly replaced it, filling my mouth.  I had only
tasted him once, in this manner, and I had wanted to see his juice issue
again; but my hunter held me this time, not allowing his body to escape my
lips.  He thrust his spear into my mouth and soon the juice of it burst
onto my tongue.  Some of his issuance joined his liquids on my breasts and
belly as some went into my belly.  He held me thus until his last spurt had
shaken him.  I marveled that both liquids issued from the same place.

   On some days, I taunted him with my breasts and hips and opening,
desiring to increase his appetite and increase my own.  If he approached me
I might let his spear brush my buttocks.  I might let my nipples brush his
lips.  I might even let him slip himself between my thighs, but I would
move before he had pierced my belly.  On days like these, my hunter would
strike quickly, without warning, vexed by the frustration of his desire.

   If he were behind me, and if I forgetfully bent to walk under a low
hanging branch, absently presenting my opening to him, he would swiftly
thrust his spear through it and into my belly.  I often cry, like an
alarmed bird, but he holds me strongly by my hips.  His takings are quick
and deep, each eliciting a cry.  I relish the sounds of his panting and
groaning.  I relish looking between my legs to see his need for me, his
nuts swinging beneath his spear and between my thighs.  Our animal grunts
and groans join the sounds of the forest until his great cry would fill my
belly with his juice.

   Because there was not always a place to bathe, I frequently walked with
thighs streaked with our juices.  My opening was always moist, making our
couplings frequent.  Sometimes I would walk behind him.  His spear was not
always rigid but I knew when his thoughts would turn to me.  This delighted
me.

   It so happened one day that I was more distracted by him than he was by
me.  I could not force my eyes from his buttocks, the line of his back, the
squareness and size of his shoulders, his small nipples, his languid spear,
sometimes thick without being rigid.  I wished to taste his skin,
glistening with heat, the parts of leaves and branches.  I wanted to lick
him clean and swallow his spear.

   If I approached him he swatted me away as though I were a biting fly.

   Many long minutes of hunting game only inflamed me.  When my hunter
finally readied himself, having spied a boar within reach of his spear, I
once again could not take my eyes from the spear with which he hunted me.
It was full and almost rigid.  I knelt before him and took it in my mouth.
My hunter gasped, silently, but could do nothing unless he give notice to
the boar.  His spear grew rigid in my mouth.  I heard him groan again,
though it was only a whisper.  I felt his torso move as he prepared to slay
the boar.  At that same moment I tasted him -- a hard spurt that tickled
the back of my throat.  Before I could taste the next he had thrown his
spear at the boar.  The spear which had been in my mouth danced in front of
me like a little snake.  It spit its white liquid on my lips and open
mouth, my breasts and belly.I laughed but my hunter, who had never missed
an animal he intended to kill, did not.

   I jumped and ran, laughing.  My hunter pursued me.  I could not outrun
him.  I knew I could not.  I threw myself to the ground, panting and
breathless.  I cried out as though a bee had stung me.  My hunter had
struck my buttocks with a narrow slip of a branch.  He struck again and
again I cried out.  I did not wait for him to strike me a third time.  I
clamored to my feet and ran again, fearing him for the first time since I
had first met him.

   But I could not run fast enough.  He struck my buttocks again, even as I
ran.  I cried out and tried to outwit him.  I changed directions like the
fox who never runs straight.  He struck my buttocks again and I stumbled,
too breathless to run anymore.  Still, he did not stop.  I pleaded and
begged him.  I twisted and turned on the ground.  I cried out.  I sniffled
and tears streaked my cheeks.  Yet fear had a strange effect on me.  As
with the first day his spear had penetrated me and slain me, I once again
felt like the hunted animal.  I could feel the strange death faintly in my
belly.  I wished him to know.

   I twisted onto my belly and thrust up my buttocks.  Did I wish him to
know that he had subdued me?  I offered my opening to him, dripping with my
fear.  When he struck my buttocks again, I groaned and arched my back, only
more obscenely offering my opening to him, spreading my arms to either
side. Did I wish him to strike again?  He did.  The first faint spasm of
death shook my belly.  He struck my buttocks again and my cry was deep and
long.  I opened my legs, not fully on my knees and thrust my opening
upward. Please.  I looked back at my hunter, my cheek against the ground.
The anger that had frightened me was gone.  He gazed at me in a way I half
recognized and half did not.  The branch hissed and struck my abject
buttocks.  I groaned and rolled my eyes as another death spasm, strong this
time, shook my belly and twisted my hips.  I could feel the place between
my legs open as it never had before.  I knew that if he struck me again the
death throes would begin.

   Why did he wait?  Why else could I do to dissuade him?  Why did he not
strike?  My hunter gazed at me.  My mouth was open now and every breath was
a moan.  He drew back his arm.  I spread my legs widely and presented.  An
arc of fluid jetted upward, out of me, of its own accord, pattering on the
leaves behind me.  The branch hissed and the sting of it penetrated me as
though it had penetrated my opening.  The first death throe tightened my
belly until it snapped like a cord drawn too tightly.  I grunted as the
death throes convulsed my belly, pulsing in my opening, causing my urine to
escape in spurts.  My thighs dripped.  My knees scraped the earth as my
legs were drawn together by each spasm.  I was only dimly aware of my
hunter, kneeling behind me, between my legs, behind my upturned opening.  I
was only dimly aware of the cords with which he bound my wrists to my
ankles, like a slain animal.  I cried out when his weapon finally speared
me.

   My body pulsed around his penetration.  I was exhausted, but I was tied
like an animal.  His thrusts were hard.  My breasts scraped against the
earth, yet even this excited me.  I struggled against the cords, twisting,
but my hunter's strong thrusts never abated.  Even as I struggled to
finally free myself, his spear pierced the depths of my belly again and
again.  I squirmed and I cried out as my belly helplessly stiffened.  The
next thrust finished what the last had promised.  I convulsed again.  The
cords dug deeply into my wrists and ankles as my body helplessly contracted
and released, contracted and released.

   Finally, though my hunter's thrusting did not stop, I heard him roar and
felt his liquids pour into me.  I groaned, unable to move from my position.
He stood, walked around me, arrogantly, lustfully.  He sat against a tree.
He watched me as his fluids dripped from inside my body.  Even disposed
like this, I felt a strange power over him.  I marveled at how my very
shape compelled him to surrender his juices to me.  His spear hardened.  He
moved behind me and took me again.  Again, surrendering to me what was
rightfully mine.

   He took me once more before he untied me.  He turned me over onto my
back, my ankles still corded to my wrists, my thighs spread wide.  He
stretched himself over me, between my legs, supporting himself on his
hands. I wanted to lick the muscles of his arm.  In!  His spear pierced me
again.  I could not take my gaze from his, nor could he take his gaze from
mine when finally, the strange pleasure of our union overtook us.  My belly
had been filled again and again.  Little did I know that from this day
forward my belly would grow--my hunter's seed finally lodged inside me.

   Afterward, he licked the red indentations of the cord around my wrists
and ankles.  He licked my thighs and kissed my belly.  He gently sucked my
nipples into his mouth until they were proud and clean.  He touched me
everywhere.  He kissed and licked my lips and my eyes, licking the salt
from my cheeks.  He gently caressed my sex and mouthed it until I wished
that he would strike me anew with the branch, again and again, just so that
I could afterward be caressed, and sucked and cleaned like this.  On
another day I would know his contrition.  I would understand when I had
corded his wrists and ankles together; when his spear stood achingly from
his belly; when I touched and kissed it but never drew forth its juices. 
When I too had lashed him with a slender branch.  I would know only after I
had finally lowered myself on his rigid spear, granting him, finally, what
his body desired, the aching opening to my own.

   We reached that third part of the island where the men and women lived
together.  I marveled at the other hunters like him, all different in shape
and size and yet all strangely beautiful, so unlike the women who mingled
with them.  I could not take my eyes from the coupling of others.

   Some were private in their coupling while others were not.  I will not
forget the day when my belly was well swollen.  Coreena, who was a woman I
especially grew fond of, wished to place her ear at my belly.  I sat on a
stump while she knelt on her hands and knees, placing her ear against my
belly.  She smiled.  "There are two heartbeats inside you," she said.  "I
envy you."

   At that moment I saw that Coreena's hunter also looked at my belly
longingly.  I saw that his spear was growing rigid, larger than my own
hunter's spear.  He turned from my belly to look at Coreena's buttocks and,
surely, at her opening.  Before I thought to speak, he had knelt behind
Coreena.  I saw her gasp and her eyebrows furrow as the large spear of her
hunter slowly opened and penetrated her.  I knew what she felt.  I
understood the anguish with which she gazed up at me.  I cradled her head
in my arms, lovingly, as her cheek softly collided with my belly in time
with the patient thrusts that gradually opened her belly.

   Her breathing turned to moans.  My own opening began to drip.  A strange
pity and desire churned in my belly.  I held my swollen breast and lowered
the nipple into Coreena's mouth.  She sucked.  Her hunter groaned and his
thrusts, though no quicker, became stronger and pushed more deeply.  I knew
what he meant for her belly.  He would not let any of his juice go anywhere
but deeply between her legs.  She gazed up at me, her brow knotted with the
anguish of penetration.  A spasm caused me to gasp, and then another.

   I opened my mouth but no sound escaped.  I was convulsing.  Coreena's
gaze was also half-lidded with shock and surprise as she convulsed on the
spear that spitted her.  I saw her hunter arch his back and throw back his
head, crying out.  Though I could not see, I knew that he was streaming his
white juices into her belly.  I hoped that her belly would swell with the
spearing as mine had.  When she stood, she kissed me and it was the first
time, though not the last, the I so deeply kissed another woman.

   The next time, we would face each other as our hunter's took us from
behind.  We would share each other's passions.  We would gaze at each
others expressions and we would kiss.  But that is another story.

   If only men spoke the same language as women, it would be paradise.
   

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