Chapter 22
Travelling with The Inca Wayna Qhapaq

Having attracted the attention of the Tahuantinsuyu ruler, Inca Wayna Qhapaq, Nico is granted an audience and is invited to tour the southern part of the kingdom to Lake Titicaca with him where he indulges in the pleasures of their male whore house. Returning to the capital he engages a precocious 10 yo llama herder in the high peaks of Cuzco and discovers the Inca practice of child sacrifice.

Codes: tt, Mt; oral, anal

Characters: 15 yo boy-girl, 28 yo whore, 10 yo Amaru Rimay (Dragon Speaker)

A few days later I received an invitation from a young page to join the Inca that afternoon and he returned several candle marks later to escort me to the palace. Actually, the way the invitation was phrased, it was more a matter of granting me the honour of meeting with him rather than an invitation over which I had any say. He had evidently reached the level of my position in his list of those he was showing special favour to in this celebration. Wearing my tunic with the red and green trim and my headband with the yellow and purple feathers and silver horse clasp, my Cross of Saint Christopher about my neck and my sword and daggers strapped about my waist, I followed the page, whom I figured to be about ten years of age, back to Haucaypata, Recreation Square, in the heart of the city.

In the centre of the square was the capac usno, the city huaca where the emperor had sat earlier to view the Inti Raymi festival. Three sides of the square were enclosed by royal residences and attached buildings. On the southeast was Acllahuasi, the House of Selected Women where there lived anywhere from two to six hundred girls who entered the house between the ages of seven and twelve to be trained, and where they sewed the garments worn by the Inca and his relatives. At the age of fourteen or fifteen they had four possible destinies. They became members of the Inca's harem, became one of the virgins serving the Sun, became part of the treasury and were given as rewards for captains or favourites, or became sacrificial victims. How they were chosen for one or the other I have no idea, and I wondered what it would be like for a girl living like that and knowing her possible fates, none of them seeming that desirable to me. On the east side of the square along the Sapi River was Amarucancha, Dragon Yard, the palace of Wayna Qhapaq separated from Aclluhussi by the Street of the Sun, the Inti Kihllu, the most sacred street in the city.

The palace had a wide entrance with two low turrets topped by thatch, and so were decorative rather than for defence. Passing through the gates we entered the carpi huasi, a courtyard in which were stationed two Cañari guards carrying ornate tufted lances. We crossed it to the next gate where there stood two proud, young Inca knights with war slings around their foreheads and carrying battle maces. To my surprise, neither set of guards stopped me despite my sword and daggers being visible. Passing the armoury or guard room, we entered the waiting room where ambassadors and important curacas waited for an audience and upon which opened the quarters for young highborn squires who act as pages. I waited there briefly until another young page escorted me to the nearby cuyos manco, a large open air room with a patio and heavy beams for meetings of the royal council or other important meetings of the emperor and which was also the throne room for receiving ambassadors.

This was the farthest that anyone who was not an Inca penetrated the immense palace. Further inside were hundreds of windowless, cell-like rooms with hangings for doors, some with two levels connected by a ladder, sectioned off with doormen, the kenko huasi, who ensured privacy, where the Inca's vast relations lived. These included interior patios with gardens, to both supplement the food supply for the palace and to brighten the otherwise drab, stone edifice. One large section of the palace, heavily guarded, was set aside for the queen. Other rooms included privies, storage rooms holding precious mantles, jewels, regalia, gold utensils, and feathered work used by emperor, wardrooms for clothes for the pages, and the llasa huasi which held mementos of victories including the dried and stuffed bodies of enemy chiefs. The harem room was the most sequestered area of the palace, and beside it were special storage rooms containing the large heavy jars of akha, the fermented maize beer which the women in the harem made. Behind the harem was the emperor's private quarters where only women were allowed. No men were permitted, not even the Inca's royal guards or the male members of his family.

The walls of the cuyos manco, where I had been taken to have my audience with the Emperor, were covered with sheets of gold and silver and hiding in the niches were life-sized imitation plants and herbs, mice, lizards, butterflies, and snakes, all perfect in detail, which also could be seen peeping out of an adjacent orchard of gold and silver fruit trees from which hung actual size gold and silver fruit. The emperor was sitting at the opposite end on a low seat of gold, hollowed out but with no arms or back, on a gold platform. Beside him was a low table upon which sat vessels of gold and silver and beside which were gold baskets made to look like they were made of wicker, gold bins containing blankets and pelisses made of vicuna wool to lie on or as coverings to keep off the chill, and even gold and silver firewood stocked up as if ready for the fireplace.

Before me sat the emperor, Inca Wayna Qhapaq, whose name I had been told meant "rich in magnanimous deeds since boyhood" or "the young mighty one". Now thirty-one years of age, he had begun his rule two years ago upon the death of his father. Having spent his first year honouring his parents as was customary, his mother having died shortly after his father, he had begun his tour of his Empire but had returned to Cuzco for the birth of his son Huascar, born to his second wife and now one years old. Here before me sat the ruler of an empire some three thousand miles long and four hundred miles wide. His tunic was black, which to these people was the most sacred colour, and he wore a headband with the large silver disc over his forehead, two feathers, the yellow and scarlet tassel, and a red fringe that covered his eyes that he and only he was allowed to wear. (1)

Bidding me to sit, he had one of his servants pour us chilled chicha and serve us fresh fruit and plates of nuts. He was most curious about where I had come from and I spent the next hour convincing him of my esteem and the power of the tribe I had come from, which I described as many cycles of the moon travel, three times the number of fingers a man has on both hands, and across a great ocean sea. Knowing of my tattoos and of its practice by a tribe along their western coast, he assumed that was the sea I was referring to and informed me that he had been told no land existed beyond it. He was most amazed to learn of another sea on the other side of his empire but accepted it as truth. I was presented with a medal to wear which granted me a special honour, the rank of a Hahua Inca, a secondary caste of the nobility, the sons of concubines of the Inca and his royal family, and the descendants of ancestors who had been granted incahood from the time of the Inca's grandfather or earlier. This caste, I was informed, wore their hair long as i did. Planning on departing on a visit to the southern portion of his empire upon the conclusion of Inti Rami, he invited me to accompany him, which I eagerly agreed to do. (2)

Besides being the political centre of the Empire, Cuzco was a religious centre and as a high-ranking dignitary it was incumbent upon me to visit the city's shrines and show homage to its ruler's gods. The second largest building in the city was Coricancha, where each god had his or her own rectangular huasi or thatched house arranged around a central patio in addition to a chapel for Mama Ocllo where the mummified corpse of Wayna's mother sat. Standing there before her dried, wrinkled corpse gave me gooseflesh and knowing that these people not only brought out the mummified bodies of their gods and ancestors during festivals but they actually clothed them and fed them and offered them tributes sent a shiver up my spine. I could not envision packing around the mummified corpse of my great-grandfather each of our holidays, dressing him, and feeding him.

While I was visiting the Coricancha an elderly priest entered with whom I initially assumed was a very pretty young maiden and whom I had assumed, not knowing the customs of these peoples well enough yet, was one of the virgins selected to worship Inti. Curious about their customs and beliefs and how they compared to the Tenochca, I remained and watched the pair until they left. Returning to the courtyard, I spotted them making a purchase from one of the vendors in the square, and the priest having noticed me, I felt obligated to at least introduce myself and explain the reason for my attention. He was of course a high-ranking individual in their hierarchy and informed me that he had witnessed the special attention the Inca had paid me on the day of Inti Rami, and knew that I had been granted an audience by the Emperor and even of my being bestowed the title of Hahua Inca. He was of course eager to make the acquaintance of anyone who had the Inca's favour and I had to wonder if our meeting had really been by chance.

I explained I was an ambassador from a land a great distance away from the empire, and of course he was curious about the beliefs and practices of my tribe and so it was that I was invited to join him in their temple and we spent the remainder of the day talking. I discovered many things from him, including the fact that these people too had a legend of a great flood, the uno pachacuti, and I was eager to share the Christian story of Noah and learn more about their belief. As we talked, he noticed my interest in his young assistant and when I described to him the role of altar boys in our Christian faith he was especially interested, and much to my surprise, he inquired if Christian priests had congress with these altar boys. I confessed with much discomfort and shame that some did, though that was not a role and not the norm. Much to my shock, I was informed that his assistant was actually a male who had been raised as a female as a child. (3)

The next obvious question was whether I engaged in congress with young boys, to which I honestly and with great self-consciousness and guilt, admitted that I did. He showed no reaction to my confession and only bent over and whispered something to his assistant who quickly disappeared and returned just as quickly with another assistant who could easily have been his twin sister the two were dressed so alike and were so alike in appearance and behaviour. We retired to one of the smaller rooms in the temple, one not unlike the guest rooms we had in the temples to Xochipilli and in their similarity they were obviously used for the same purpose. It was also obvious that this priest was eager to gain the favour of one who evidently had the favour of the Emperor. Prayers of gratitude and requests for blessing from Inti were made by the priest and intoned by his two assistants and the priest pricked his and our earlobes to draw blood which was dripped on strips of woven fibre and burned before the image of Inti similar to sacrifices I had witnessed among the Tenochca and had made myself.

Our obligations done, the two boys turned to us. I had by then spent enough time in this land to know the behaviours expected of boys and girls, and of women and men, and I was amazed how exactly the two boys acted like two teenage girls, having the same delicate movements, the same shyness and avoidance of eye contact, the same graceful movements of their bodies and the same subservient behaviour, but also typical of girls of this country, the same sexual openness and aggressiveness unlike the females of Portugal and other civilized countries. It was a most interesting and most arousing combination, this merger of female subservience and what I was accustomed to thinking of as male sexual dominance. The two boys artfully disrobed myself and the elderly priest, caressing our flesh and kissing us at the same time so as to begin to arouse us. From his appearance, the priest I figured to be of advanced age, older than Father or Uncle but not as elderly as my grandparents. His body was thin and wrinkled and spotted with age, his arms and legs boney and his elbows and knees knobby and his ribs showing, and his breasts flabby like an old woman's rather than firm and muscular like that of a man. Despite his frailness and age, he was obviously functional as his penis was semi-flaccid and slowly swelling, and despite his appearance the young assistant showed no aversion to engaging in foreplay with him.

Having stripped the two of us, the two boys quickly removed their own clothing. Their bodies were smooth and unblemished and their muscles soft and rounded, more like prepubescent boys, with plump breasts, but with a hint of definition characteristic of adolescent boys also. As they removed their breechcloths, it was evident that despite their effeminate mannerisms, they were very definitely boys, both having large, dark, pendant stones and thick, hooded members. Their hair was worn long instead of being cut into bangs and trimmed along the sides and back like men and the young knights I had seen. They approached us again and as they embraced and caressed us, we caressed and kissed them. I cupped the stones of the boy caressing me and rolled them in their loose, sweaty sack, and I fondled his swelling member as he caressed my buttocks and tongued my chest and my nipples, causing them to become firm. The two boys were skilled in the art of foreplay and we were soon all erect and eager. Engaging in these preliminaries with the young boy, whom I estimated to be about fifteen, like his companion, was highly arousing, and just as arousing was watching his companion and the elderly priest engaged in the same foreplay given their great difference in age.

Taking containers of ointment which were on the shelf in the room, the two boys proceeded to lube our now stiff, projecting cocks, and their own assholes, inserting their fingers up their rectums to lube them. They then dutifully bent over and the priest and I approached them from behind. They were easily penetrated, obviously having done this many times before, and grasping their hips, the priest and I proceeded to fuck them. I have described the pleasures of fucking a young boy many times and this was no different. The boy's youth and innocence, the softness and beauty of his body, and his sexual exuberance all added to my pleasure, and watching the boy and priest beside me engaged in the same pleasure increased my own lust. There was a subtle difference though. The softness and effeminacy of the boy I was fucking despite his age were subtly evident. I was not fucking a boy, but rather a boy-girl, which was very different from most boys I have fucked. I was reminded in a way of the beautiful koçek Rifki whom I had met while with the Saracens. He had truly enjoyed being a girl and taking on the role of a girl, and I suspected so did these two boys. I had great difficulty comprehending why a boy would do that, but I had great respect and admiration of them and their decision to do so.

They were still boys and acted like boys as we approached our orgasms. Their breathing became more laboured and they squirmed and began to jerk with the spasms of pleasure rippling through their swollen members and up their rectums. I and the priest were panting also and I threw back my head and closed my eyes and focussed on the pleasure pulsating through my swollen cock, my flesh and the boy's flesh pulsating as one, throbbing in time with our beating hearts, throbbing with a similar pleasure. I grasped the boy's smooth hips and pumped my aching cock in and out of his hot, moist rectum, and he tightened his anal muscle with my withdrawals and relaxed when I plunged in, knowing intimately what a man's cock felt like as he approached his peak. I inhaled deeply and clenched my teeth as I felt the twang deep in my groin and my seed burn up the core of my cock. It spurted out of my burning tip and into his rectum in short, violent spurts, and he began to spurt also, his seed flying out of his projecting, wildly wagging cock and across the room to land on the floor in thick, creamy puddles. The priest and the boy beside me were erupting also and the room was filled with the musky fragrance of seed.

Two days later I began my tour of the southern portion of the kingdom with the Emperor, Inca Wayna Qhapaq. To my surprise, I discovered that the Inca had houses across the empire in which were stored all such items as he might need should he pass by, from gold plates and cups to fur-lined capes, so he never had to carry anything with him when he travelled. Such immensity of personal wealth to have such items sitting in storage within a day's walk, every ten leagues or less, for a month or more of travel and then only used for a day or two was incomprehensible! I was also told that he never wore the same garment twice, passing his garment on to his kinsmen at the end of each day.

At his palace he bathed in tubs of gold and silver with water brought in by gold and silver pipes from nearby hot springs. He did not have that luxury on the road, but he took great efforts to maintain his cleanliness, having the same obsession for washing his body as most peoples in this land. He usually walked himself for he was a warrior besides a king, but on our journey there were times, for reasons of pomp and ceremony, or when the weather was inclement, that he was carried on a gold litter. While away he left the administration of Cuzco to one of his many uncles, who was allowed to use his royal litter and his golden tableware in his absence.

The month of July was a cold month during which repairs were made to their irrigation system and late crops were harvested and stored, an ideal time for touring. I quickly found out the reason I was invited was so he had an opportunity to show off his wealth and power and size of his kingdom so I could report his magnificence to my king when I returned to my homeland, and at the same time he was able to impress his subjects with me, his guest, the strange-looking ambassador from a faraway and powerful land, and third, so he could quiz me more closely regarding the land I came from, especially if it represented a threat, or an opportunity to expand his own empire even further.

His questions sounded innocent and were interspersed with mundane topics, but they all related to my homeland's military strength and defences and its wealth. I had witnessed such conniving while travelling with Prince Abbas Mirza when his uncles quizzed him, and he in turn studied his uncles' defences, and so was prepared with answers that would impress him and cause him hesitation, not that there could be the slightest chance of him invading Portugal. As for being on display, it was a small price to pay for being obviously the latest favourite of the Inca. I was treated as well as any member of the nobility would be, and found myself the recipient of still more tokens of their respect in the hopes I would remember them to the Inca.

I never ceased to be amazed at the reverence with which the people held their ruler. It was truly believed that he was descended from the gods and he was treated as one himself. At each centre we arrived at, he rose early and ate from daybreak to well into morning. He then received reports from his messenger-runners and sent out orders to his governors and generals. After noon he sat in public judgement to hear complaints from the people. The day concluded with a final banquet by the light of fragrant wood fires, after which he retired, usually with one of his concubines as his wives had remained at Cuzco or with a young maiden courtesy of the governor of whatever province we happened to be in. As I got to know him, I found him to be insufferably proud and arrogant, a characteristic I found of most Inca, and a bombastic lover of women. There was not a night that he did not retire with a maiden.

He had married his eldest sister, as was custom, and in that she had failed to provide him a son he had married a second sister by whom he had one son. Incest, I was told, was limited to the Inca and not practised by others. They believed that the Sun had married his sister the Moon and since the Inca was a descendant of the sun his sons also had to be of pure blood and the only others of pure blood were his sisters. Polygamy was also the privilege of nobles and not practised by the common people. Wayna Qhapaq had so many bastard sons and daughters he did not even try to keep track of them or remember their names. Reflecting on the close relationship between myself and Father, I could not imagine a man having such disregard for his own children. He may be highly revered by his people and a descendant of the gods themselves, but the longer I travelled with him the less I liked the man. At the same time I sat in on his judgements, and I confess his judgements were always fair and well thought out, and he did care for the welfare of the common people of his Empire. He was a complex man, and I found myself admiring him one moment and despising him the next.

We constantly climbed but these peoples are accustomed to such heights and the rare air, and I fortunately had adapted myself in my long climb to this land. We at last reached the southernmost point of our tour, Lake Titicaca, an immense lake above the tree line that extended as far as the eye could see in all directions. The people here used boats they made from bulrushes and reeds. It was an ancient land and here were great temples and many ruins from peoples who had occupied the land before the arrival of the Inca.

A large celebration was held for their emperor of course, with much feasting and drinking and many women for his choosing for the evening, which pleased him greatly. As for those who preferred congress with their own gender, there was no shortage of companionship for there were several great houses where beautiful young men dressed as women entertained those with such preferences. In my travels across Tahuantinsuyu I found a great diversity of attitudes in that regard. Some members of the royal family were blatant practitioners, but generally I found the Inca were against such unions and looked down upon those who engaged in them. The common people generally did not care what one did when he went to bed or with whom he did it, but there were some extremists who felt it was a grave crime and weighed down such practitioners with stones and threw them in lakes and rivers to drown while others at the other extreme took the attitude of the descendants of the Chimu and openly engaged in such practice. These widely divergent attitudes at first confused me, but when I considered the vast area the empire of the Inca covered and the number and diversity of tribes which they had conquered, I could see how in one kingdom there could be such diverse opinions, particularly since the Inca made few efforts to change the way the people they conquered lived as long as they paid their tribute to the Empire and their loyalty to the Inca. In fact it was this lack of interference with everyday life and even with those who ruled over the people that won the defeated tribes over to their conquerors. (4)

For myself, I could not resist visiting these houses while we were at Lake Titicaca. The men again reminded me of the dancer Rifki. They wore the robes of women and perfumed themselves and powdered their faces and painted their lips and eyes, and they engaged in all the duties and pastimes of women and none of those of men. Those in the houses, at least those that I saw, ranged in age from their early twenties to late thirties with a few younger and a few older. There was usually an older man in charge whose behaviour reminded me of elderly matrons back home, or of eunuchs in the lands of the Persians and Arabs. Upon entering one of these houses, the customer was directed to the person in charge, who then escorted the customer to a common room where those who lived there congregated. You then chose whom you wanted to be with and paid the person in charge, or you indicated how much you were willing to pay and the man in charge chose a partner for you. Given my appearance and obvious wealth, and my relationship with the Emperor, I had the pick of the household in every house I visited during our stay. They were, in my mind, all the same.

Having had sold my services myself while with the Saracens and Ottoman, I was familiar with the attitudes and special culture of those who sold their bodies, and other than that these men were older than the boys I had associated with by at least ten years, and were much more effeminate, their attitudes and behaviours were much the same as I had found while living with the koçeks and the tellack boys. There was a sort of gloominess which they tried to hide or deny by acting or dressing flamboyantly, and an attitude of hopelessness and anger with everyone and everything around. There was also a closeness and comradery and a support for each other. And, there was a strong rivalry and jealousy that I had forgotten about and that brought back painful memories.

My partner, whom I learned was twenty-eight, nine years older than myself, was experienced and skilled in pleasing customers and sensed quickly what I liked and what I did not, much as I myself had been able to working the baths. It felt strange being the customer and recognizing those little things that he did that brought back memories of those days when I had to sell my body for a living. It was obvious why the person I was with demanded a high price for his time and was a favourite of those who could afford him. He knew all the right places to touch and when to touch them, with his soft, gentle hands, his smooth, painted lips, or his moist, skilful tongue. By the time he had disrobed me I was fully aroused, and he proceeded to tantalize me as he removed his own clothing. He was a handsome young man with seductive eyes and a seductive smile, his body markedly soft compared to the guards, litter-bearers, and servants travelling with the Emperor.

We fondled each other and caressed each other gently, careful to avoid those more sensitive areas so as to prolong our pleasure, and I know he appreciated my skill in that regard as much as I appreciated his. We then lay down facing each other in opposite directions and licked and sucked each other's stones and each other's member. He was most curious about my lack of a hood and shuddered when I explained it was not the natural condition of my people but had been purposefully removed. He finally went down on me, taking my entire member in his mouth so that the bulb was extended down his throat and his lips were wrapped tight about the hairy base of my shaft. His was slightly shorter than mine but fatter, and I could not go down on him as far as he did me, even when he explained the technique and demonstrated how to breathe. Having congress with him was gentle and soothing and we sucked on each other's cock for a long time, enjoying the throbbing of our own member and the prolonged numbness as our stones become swollen and hard. It was a long time before we reached our orgasms and drank each other's cream, and when we did release our seed we did so for a much longer time, and without the need for drugs.

We rested a bit and then I mounted him, taking him from behind, and again it was all very slow and very pleasant. He had to have been fucked many times, but he was still tight. I pumped my cock in and out of his body slowly, taking the time to delight in the heat and moistness of his rectum and I paused frequently to relish the throbbing of my cock and the throbbing of his ass flesh. When I finally began to squirt my seed up his rectum, he too spilled his seed. It was all very pleasant and satisfying, but for me was not as good as having congress with a boy who acted as a boy.

One night, the first night the moon appeared as a thin crescent after having disappeared, we were taken to an island in Lake Titicaca along with the governor of the area and the high priest. There on a raised platform prayers were offered to the Moon Goddess, the wife of the Sun Inti, and five young virgins, two males and three females, were brought forward. They stood there, silent and docile, as the priests lead them up onto the platform one by one where they were presented to the Moon Goddess and sacrificed. As their chests were sliced open and their hearts removed, the others stood by without flinching, without even seeming to notice what was happening, and upon looking at them more closely, I saw they had been drugged and had no idea what was going on. They were young, in their teens, and as I watched the two boys being lead forward I could not help but think what a waste of young lives and beautiful young men it was. The new moon ceremony we practised in the worship of Xochipilli was far preferable and I felt a great sadness. The five bodies were buried on a sandstone outcrop on the island and we returned to the mainland, the others satisfied that their duty to their goddess had been done, myself sickened by the reminder that these were ignorant savages in desperate need for the Word of Christ.

Our return to Cuzco was uneventful and much faster and upon our return I was left on my own as the Inca dealt with issues that had arisen in his absence. I visited the huacas along the east road and climbed the mountain peaks surrounding Cuzco, feeling as if I were climbing to the sky. It was August now and spring was in the air in this land and I wondered how it was that the seasons here were reversed from how they should be. Scattered here on these treeless slopes young boys herded their flocks. There are four animals here in the high mountains that closely resemble each other. The guanaco are wild but curious animals and are not shy of humans and are hunted for their flesh and their hides. A smaller, more slender animal with red-orange fur and known as a vicuña is also wild and much more skittish. They appeared to be largely left alone. The llama I have already mentioned. They are domesticated, sure-footed animals used as beasts of burden and raised for their long, coarse wool and the females for their flesh, which tastes much like mutton. They reminded me of camels, spitting and obstinate when they feel they have been overburdened. The fourth is called an alpaca. It is partially domesticated and is small with longer, softer wool.

The boys herding the llamas have little to do, the animals being allowed to range over the mountainside there being few inhabited areas, and the animals sticking together because the grasses are sparse above the tree line and the animals knowing instinctively there is protection in numbers. Indeed, other than rescuing the occasional calf who has fallen into a tight crevice or wandered onto a ledge and unable to turn around on its own, the only other duty of these young herders to keep an eye out for the mountain cats which prey on their charges. It is, however, a dangerous life for they themselves can become trapped in the narrow crevices if they slip, or can fall to their death trying to rescue their dumb charges from the crumbling cliffs with the tantalizing tufts of grass, or can become lunch for the predators roaming at night. Their only defence against these animals is a sling they wrap about their foreheads, or their walking staffs.

Having much time on their hands, these herders perch on the mountain ledges overlooking the valleys below and spin wool or create new tunes on their flutes or whittle wooden figures for the marketplace, and like all boys on their own, dreaming of their futures and pleasuring themselves. Most of them are boys between the ages of nine and thirteen, boys who have not yet reached puberty and undergone the rites of knighthood that mark them as men. They spend many days on end watching their charges without ever seeing another human being. It is a lonely life, and when a traveller passes by they are eager to talk, seeking news of what has happened in their village, and eager just for companionship.

Finding their innocence and independence joyful and their energy and boldness invigorating, I looked forward to crossing paths with them and spending an enjoyable afternoon in conversation. Often as not I spent the night also and being curious and on the cusp of puberty they were quick to take me up on engaging in those secret pleasures. One ten-year-old boy, Amaru Rimay, Dragon Speaker, was particularly precocious and gave just as many hints that he wished to engage in sex as I gave. His behaviour and his looks reminded me of Vasco, the grandson of the steward of my estate whom I had caught pleasuring himself and with whom I had a relationship until I had left on this ill-begotten voyage.

After a late evening snack of cheese made from llama milk and smoked strips of meat that tasted like pork, the boy looked up at the surrounding peaks and observed that alone in the evenings he often thought of the tales of the gods having congress on the mountain peaks, and that on occasion the priests engaged in sex with the female concubines of the temples, as did the nobles and their concubines in imitation of the gods. He went on to observe that he was not tired and rubbed the inside of his thighs suggestively. I smiled at the boy's thinly-veiled hints and obvious attempt at seduction. Far from averse to having congress with the boy, I pretended ignorance about these tales, which was not totally pretense, and the boy eagerly related them, in detail, and seeing the resultant arousal of his audience, elaborated even more on the erotic detail. That of course resulted in his own arousal which in turn increased my prurience and the evidence of my arousal which caused the boy to grow even more aroused.

I at last observed with a smile that the young herder's staff had somehow slipped into his clothing. The boy was perplexed at first and then laughed, saying it was not quite that large. Sliding closer to him, I expressed disagreement and intimated that I needed proof. The boy was quick to observe that he had not noticed before that I also had a herder's staff and I glanced down at the tent in my tunic and feigned surprise.

Spreading our cloaks out on the ground, we quickly discarded our clothes and while the boy examined and caressed my member with curiosity and admiration, I examined and caressed the boy's tiny erection with desire. The boy wrapped his small, hot hands about my impressive member and squeezed it tightly, amazed by its size and firmness and the lack of a hood. His eyes wide with wonder, he slowly began to stroke it. I inhaled deeply with the shards of pleasure cutting into the rim of my knob and the lust pulsating through my swollen shaft. Taking the boy's cocklet between my thumb and first two fingers, I slowly and gently stroked it, drawing the boy's hood back down off his plum-coloured bulb and then drawing it back over the tender swelling. We pleasured each other in that age-old method, delighting in the pleasure we were feeling between our legs and in the pleasure that comes from knowing one is providing the other that same unique pleasure. In time our breathing became more laboured and irregular and at last the first clear droplets of nectar oozed out of my cock. The boy immediately stopped stroking and reaching out with his pointer finger, he flipped up the clear nectar and popped it in his mouth and savoured the sweet delight.

Having the boy stand and turn around, I pulled apart his smooth, compact ass cheeks to reveal the boy's pucker and I leaned forward and began to rim the boy and the boy squirmed with delight as he felt my tongue swirl around his opening and wedge itself into the little pucker. My mouth quickly filled with saliva and I pressed my lips against the boy's anus and blew my saliva into the boy's hole, and then inserted my index finger up the boy's ass and twisted it. The boy inhaled sharply and squirmed with delight.

Bending over, I drooled my saliva over my swollen cock, coating my cockhead and my shaft with my spittle. I then got to my knees and shuffled on the cloaks over to the boy and the boy spread his legs and pulled his ass cheeks apart in anticipation. Grasping the boy's smooth hips, I wedged the tip of my saliva-dripping cock into the boy's asshole and slowly pushed forward. The boy was tight and my cockhead wide, but between the slippery saliva and the lust of both myself and the ten-year-old boy my cock wedged open the boy's asshole and at last popped inside. Panting and gasping with our effort, the boy and I closed our eyes and inhaled deeply as I pressed forward, sinking my cock up Amaru Rimay's rectum.

And so there on our cloaks on a ledge high in the rugged mountain slopes in the light of the moon and stars, we had congress. I pumped my swollen cock in and out of the boy's hot, moist rectum slowly and rhythmically, delighting in the tightness of the boy's ass and the pleasure pulsating through my member, and the boy inhaled deeply and trembled with the pleasure of having his ass stuffed with the long, thick cock of a muscular, prurient, nineteen-year-old. His rectum throbbed in time with my swollen cock and his anus burned with the same pleasure as the rim of my bulb. The two of us inhaled the crisp, thin mountain air deeply and exhaled with a shudder of delight like hundreds of others have done, male and female, male on male, throughout time. The pressure built in our loins and our heads spun with lust as our blood rushed through our veins and pounded in our swollen cocks, and I reached between the ten-year-old boy's legs and stroked his stiff little member as my own thick member throbbed up the boy's rectum.

The two of us inhaled sharply as our bodies trembled with our orgasms, my balls drawn up tight beneath my blood-engorged cock as I began to spurt my hot, thick seed up the ten-year-old boy's rectum, and the boy trembling as his own little stones, swollen and hard, tried to pump out seed that they were yet too young to produce. The boy trembled with his dry orgasm as it ripped up his swollen cock and as he felt his rectum being flooded with a delightful wetness and warmth. I grasped the young boy's hips tightly as spurt after spurt erupted out of my body with burning pleasure, my thick seed coating my swollen cock as it pumped in and out of the boy's rectum until at last I and the boy collapsed in ecstasy. We later sat by the campfire and I played him tunes with my panpipe, and he showed me new tunes on his yupana, a form of panpipe common in these high mountains, and as the notes bounced off the high peaks shimmering white in the pale light of the moon, I felt content with life.

I spent much of my time noting the customs of these peoples, now out of habit and curiosity as I had resolved myself to the fact I would never again see my homeland nor report my findings to my liege. Cuzco, I discovered, had two dungeons, one for criminals and one for captured members of enemy tribes and non-Incas. Beside these dungeons was a zoo of starving pumas, poisonous snakes, and scorpions. Convicted prisoners were displayed to the public and then tossed along with these animals into adjoining pits lined with jagged flints. If the prisoners survived a certain period of time depending on their crime, they were released. Those days on which they were punished drew a sizeable crowd, not so much to see justice being done, but for the excitement of the punishment, and I was reminded of such scenes said to be common among the ancient Romans in years past. It seems like man's delight in watching the suffering and torture of other men is universal.

South of the city were gallows where criminals were hung by their feet until dead. In front of Coricancha was an open area and opening on it was a corral of llama for sacrifice, and beside it were thatched huts for children up to the age of twelve who were of many different races but all selected for their beauty and purity. To my horror I learned that three times a year priests took these children, dressed them richly, made them drunk, and strangled them in sacrifice to their gods, or they took them high into the mountain tops where they were drugged and left in caves to freeze to death. Such wanton and needless treatment of these young innocents greatly sickened me and what respect and admiration I had of these peoples for their accomplishments dissipated like the morning mists clinging to their mountain peaks. It was time for me to move on.

Chapter 23
Travelling the Amassona

Nico encounters the headhunters of the headwaters of the Marañón River where he has a drug-induced vision in which he sees Cuacualti as a spirit and he tells Nico his purpose in life is to spread who he is, not a Christian, but a lover of boys, which is the natural order of the universe. He also sees the spirit of Uncle Paolo and so many others Nico's mind cannot retain them all. He continues on to the Jebå-baca and the Pâmiwâ where he witnesses their wedding ceremony, ending in the territory of the Yanõmami.

Codes: Mt, tb, tt; oral, anal

Characters: spirit of Cuacualti and of Uncle Paolo, unnamed 18 yo Jebå-baca, Pâmiwâ hunter and 14 and 11 yo, 12 yo Yanõmami.

Although it was the abhorrent discovery of the slaughter of their children and the discovery that they caused them to suffer a slow, agonizing death of starvation and freezing alone on the mountain tops to placate their false gods that caused me to decide it was time to leave, I had been debating doing so for some weeks. This was not the fabled kingdom of the Great Khan, and nobody, not the great Inca himself nor any of his chief generals nor head priests had ever heard of such an emperor or such a kingdom, and they knew much about the peoples surrounding their vast empire. Having spent almost three months with these peoples, I had seen and learned enough of their ways and found that they, like all the savages I have encountered throughout this strange land, are an uncivilized, bloodthirsty, superstitious lot. Like many other tribes, they had a misguided belief that killing captives of war by sacrificing them to their gods was more honourable than the killing of warriors on the battlefield. And like other tribes they saw honour in the sacrifice of their own people, even their own children, something no civilized man or woman could believe.

Their belief that the measure of a man was his bravery in battle and skill in killing, whether it be killing a creature to feed his family and friends or killing a member of the neighbouring tribe, was also common among all tribes and unshakable. When you came right down to it, I found nothing of their culture nor their beliefs that I would want to incorporate as my own, or that would make them worthy allies of the Kingdom of Portugal, and their leader, though a man genuinely concerned about the welfare of his people and one who strived to improve their lot in life, was a proud, arrogant, cruel man, not a man I would want to emulate, and certainly not one I would consider a friend.

The problem facing me was, where to go from here? To the west was the great Ocean Sea, whether the same great Ocean Sea I had travelled with Cristóvão Colombo to get to this land so very long ago or another one, it did not matter. I did not believe that there was no land beyond it as these primitive peoples believed, but it might just as well be for there were no craftsmen with the skills or intelligence to build a sailing ship such as those built in my home village of Viana do Castello, nor mariners who could sail such a vessel, and that was what would be required. Having travelled down from the north, I knew that the land I sought did not lie in that direction.

To the south I was told were ignorant lice-infected savages and a land lacking in anything of value and given that the expansion of Tahuantinsuyu was the sole purpose and thought of the Inca, his family, his generals, and his priests, I had no reason to doubt their word. That left only to travel east. I knew little of that land other than that the Inca had made little progress in invading the peoples there and considered them and their land of little importance, and the little that the young Inca knight I had befriended had told me. The one thing of importance that he had said was that there was a river near where his father ruled, and that it flowed to the east where it joined many other rivers to form a mighty river they called the Amassona, the boat destroyer.

It was now by my calculation the first week of September. The peasants were in the fields planting maize in anticipation of the first rains. I did not relish the thought of traveling these steep mountain paths in their rainy season, and I anticipated once the rains began, travel would be difficult. The rivers would be an exception of course, the rains in these high mountains surely making them easier to navigate, and certainly swifter. While at Lake Titicaca I had seen wicker boats made by these people which would be much lighter than the canoya I was familiar with, which would make portage easier.

There was another reason besides the weather and the brutal sacrifice of children that prompted me to leave. The fall solstice was just over two weeks away and the priests and young warrior knights were busy preparing the city for Coya Raymi, the Queen's Feast, which was in honour of the moon goddess, the mother of all Inca. I was told that on the solstice there would be a purge of the kingdom of all ills, sicknesses, and all evil things. All foreigners, those not of the royal Inca blood, would be ordered out of the city and the Inca nobility would mark the day with yahuar sanco, a thick blood dough dumpling made of ground maize meal and the blood of a hundred sacrificed sacred white llamas. They would smear this dough on their faces, paint the mouths of their ancestral mummies with it, and offer it to the huacas and springs. Just the thought of mixing dough with blood and smearing their faces with it and feeding it to their dried up corpses caused my arms to turn to gooseflesh me and I had to wonder how a people who had the power and skill to create this vast empire could engage in something so vile.

Finally on the fifth day, huacas of the empire which had been waiting outside the gates would be brought in by their priests with a great fanfare, trumpets and drums accompanied by the curaca or an ambassador of his people. The blood of thirty llamas would be added to the sanco and given to the curaca or ambassadors and the rest set aside to be sent to those too far away to attend the ceremony. The lungs of four llamas would be divined by the priests and the emperor would question the heavens what the future held for him and his people. For the rest of the day and the next the subject nations who had been conquered by the Inca would display their dances, there would be much drinking and feasting, the new huacas would be domiciled, and those who had been in the city the past year would be allowed to depart to their homelands.

As I was going to be forced to leave the city anyway, now was a good time to leave. So it was that I packed up my belongings, now considerably heavier with the gifts I had received from the Inca and from those seeking his favour, and headed back north up the trail I had arrived on, returning ten days later to a small village I had passed through on my journey south and where I now purchased a small fishing boat and set off down the nearby river. Like all mountain streams, it was swift and narrow and carried me quickly away.

I was still in the headwaters when I arrived at the land of the Awajún, brave, fierce warriors who so far were successful in resisting Wayna Qhapaq's attempts to conquer them, just as they had resisted efforts by his father before him. They were hunters and farmers but unlike the Tahuantinsuyu they had no large, permanent cities, everyone moving when soil fertility and game were depleted. They hunted with a spear and a blowpipe with which they propelled a dart dipped in a powerful poison, a formidable weapon which I obtained by trading one of my stone hatchets. Obviously not being an Inca, I was accepted into their group as an ally, though upon making a most grizzly discovery, I had little desire to remain with them any longer than I had to. These people not only collected the heads of their enemies, but committed vile atrocities on them. Removing the skull and jawbone, they sewed the lips closed, stuffed the head with hot gravel and sand and boiled it until it shrank to the size of a man's fist. These they hung on the walls of their home as trophies. They were a horrifying sight meant to scare away their enemies, and they certainly frightened me. (1)

Staying at each village overnight but on my way at first light the next morning, I thankfully did not have to join them in any battles with their enemies and even more thankfully did not have to participate in the gruesome practice of shrinking my defeated enemy's head. One night I did join the young men in a vision quest upon the encouragement of their headman after explaining where I had come from and my uncertainty where I was going. We were given a foul tasting brew made from the crushed leaves of two different plants, the seeds of which I managed to collect and add to my growing collection, and which caused me to double over in a fit of vomiting like I have never before experienced. Unable to heave up any more, I sat there miserably, my head beginning to spin and my vision to blur and I found myself in a stupor and unable to move.

There followed visits by blurred, shapeless men, the spirits of dead warriors I was told later, with whom I had strange conversations, some which I remembered and most which I did not. One of the visitors was Cuacualti, my fellow priest of Xochipilli from the north. There was no mistaking him. Slender and of unblemished complexion with expressive brown eyes, an oval face, and long, gorgeous, wavy hair, he had looked more like a girl than a man when I had known him and now in my vision and his death even more so. Deemed too weak and unmasculine by his tribe and having no interest nor skill in becoming a warrior, he had been willingly given as tribute by his people to the Tenochca, and he had willingly come. His tribe would say he was hardly the spirt of a great warrior, though in my mind he was one of the bravest men I have known. He had joined Ozomatli and myself in plotting our escape, and had remained behind disguised as me even though he knew it would be his death so Ozomatli and I could escape.

We kissed and embraced in a warm greeting, hardly the actions of warriors, and sitting down before me he told me I had far to travel, much farther than I have so far though how far and in which direction he was irritatingly most vague, as those from the next world tend to be. He placed his hands on my shoulders and gripped them firmly though he was a spirit, and looking into my eyes, he said that my purpose on this earth was to spread the joy of whom I was, not a Christian as I immediately assumed and stated, but a lover of boys, which he said with a smile was the natural order of the universe. We then made love as we had dozens of times as fellow priests of Xochipilli. Although I knew he had to be dead and that he was a spirit, I did not find that strange. Nor did I question how he had tracked me from the great city of the Tenochca to this isolated jungle village.

He cupped my balls and rolled them in their loose sack, and then knelt and took one and then the other in his mouth and sucked on them as he had dozens of times. He twisted around so I could pleasure him with my mouth at the same time, and the musky scent of his sweaty balls brought back memories of the pleasures we had with each other in Xochipilli's temple. His member quickly began to swell and I slipped my lips over it and sucked on it, delighting in the way it continued to thicken until my lips were tightly pressed around a rigid, pulsating tube of flesh. My own member had likewise stiffened and beautiful, gorgeous Cuacualti licked it from my sweating stones up over my knob to the tip, now oozing with my clear nectar. He slowly slipped his lips down the shaft and began to suck as he bobbed his head up and down, and I did likewise, delighting in the taste of his stiff cock and knowing the pleasure he was bringing me was the same pleasure I was giving him. At least I assumed a spirit felt the same pleasure as a mortal, though not being of flesh and blood, when I thought about it later I was not so certain, though from the sparkle in his eyes there could be no other conclusion.

It seemed we sucked each other's cock for the longest time and the numbness and tingling of my member spread through my loins and my legs, and up my torso and along my arms so I felt like one large, swollen, pulsating, numb cock. The rim of my bulb burned and itched with that sweet pain only men and boys can know until at long last I felt a twang deep in my loins and I felt my seed begin to gush up the core of my cock. At the same time I felt a tremor along the underside of his cock below his bulb and I knew he was about to shoot his load also. I quivered and threw back my head in ecstasy as my seed spurted out of the burning tip of my swollen, numb cock and down his throat, and my head spun with delight as his seed spurted into my mouth, hot and thick and copious. Time was suspended and we spurted endlessly, filling each other's mouth with our seed, with our essence. His seed was thick and bittersweet but seemed to evaporate like a mouthful of bubbles and the jungle about me spun and blurred and so did Cuacualti and then he was gone, leaving me with the taste of him in my mouth.

Others visited me, men and boys I had known, some swirling past me with the briefest of touch, others sitting and conversing, some stroking my genitals or my buttocks, others keeping their distance. Some praised me and told me how much I had meant to them, others, like sweet Rifki, sat and we reminisced about the good times we had experienced. Others, like the spirit of Prince Abbas, were misshapen and greatly disfigured and pulsated with a sense of great evil and greatly frightened me although they remained in the shadows and did not approach me. How much time had passed I do not know for time had no meaning. And then another figure approached me, one whose gait and posture were familiar but which I could not place until he emerged out of the mist and stood before me. A great sadness overcame me for it was Uncle Paolo and his appearance had to mean that he was dead.

We sat and talked of many things and he picked up a melon and pealed it and cut it into wedges and we ate it together, and he asked me if I knew the name of it for it was a fruit he was unfamiliar with, and I replied that I did not know its name but surely he did, being a spirit. His eyes crinkled and he smiled at that and tears filled my eyes when I recalled the many times I had seen that smile and knew that I would never sit and talk with him and see that smile again. So filled with sorrow I do not know what he said but somehow it made me feel better. Putting his arm about me, as he often had, he began to tell me another tale and I forgot my sorrow and listened in wonder, knowing there would be a lesson to be learned from it as were all his tales. Time slipped by and he told me many things about life that he had learned in his travels, and he gave me much advice, so much that my mind was unable to retain it all. My eyelids grew heavy and when at last he faded away I fell into a deep sleep, feeling more exhausted and more contented than I have ever felt.

Leaving the territory of the Awajún, I continued on my way, the rains now a daily occurrence, and as I had suspected, increasing the flow of the river, which was good in that it speeded me on my way, but dangerous also in that currents often swept me into the middle of the river and over submerged rocks that otherwise would have been visible. I finally had to abandon my wicker boat after almost four weeks of travel since leaving the Awajún as the waters had become too treacherous, and I headed north along a maze of twisting animal trails, a slow and arduous trek guided and advised by small bands of hunters I encountered, finally arriving in the land of the Jebå-baca, people of the jaguar [jebå], whom they claim as their ancestor and their guardian. My first encounter was with a youth a year younger than myself who was out alone fishing. It was late in the afternoon and he had taken a break and was cooling off in the river in the heat of the day. When I suddenly burst from the jungle, he glanced furtively at his spear he had left on the bank and I could see in his eyes he was calculating if he could reach it in time. Dropping my own spear and unstrapping my sword and daggers, I slowly shucked my pack and stripped and dived into the water to join him. He was much relieved, and after we had refreshed ourselves I joined him fishing and returned with him with our catch to his village.

The Jebå-baca live in a lush jungle between two large rivers, both swollen by the daily rains, in long houses made of poles and thatch that provides shelter for several families. The men enter the house through a door in the front and the women enter by way of the back, and the two sexes spend the bulk of their day and most of their lives segregated from each other. The day I arrived was the beginning of a major ceremony of theirs, one whose significance I was unable to grasp, and somehow they seemed to feel my appearance was a sign of good fortune. Their language was different from any I've heard and everything happened so fast much was lost on me.

Upon my arrival I was invited to join them in their evening meal, large flat circles of casava bread, manioc, avocado, peach palm, and roasted insects, the latter being a large staple of their diet, and of course the fish we had caught which had been shared with others in the village. Most of their food, like that of other tribes, is smoked or boiled. The next day, in preparation for the ceremony, we made pilgrimages to two sacred spots. Near where I had encountered them is what they called the Cooking Pot Falls. The rocks here have huge, smooth hollows carved out by the falls which they claimed was where the god they call Thunder put his pots to cook his evening meal while passing through their land.

Taking to their canoa, carved from tree trunks like those I had first encountered but much smaller in size, we continued up river to another sacred falls. This one had large boulders along the edge which they believe were the First People who lived in the nearby caves. These caves are treated with much reverence and the walls are covered with carvings, paintings and strange symbols. They believe they came to this area in canoa pulled by a large black and gold snake they call an anaconda. I have seen these snakes and they are the largest snakes I have ever seen, as long as at least three tall men are tall, and weighing twice as much as an average man. They kill their prey by wrapping around it and squeezing until they crush their prey to death, something I have seen and is most frightening. These people also believe that their supreme god, the Creator of All, is a female, and given the evidence of an anaconda, I decided it wise not to question their second belief should they be right and I upset Her.

Returning to the village, we began the ceremony, which lasts two days, beginning with the women painting the legs of the men to look like baskets. My tattooed legs and arms were examined with great wonder and despite my attempts to explain how I had come to have them, they chose to believe that I had been born with such markings, adding to the awe and mystery of my presence among them and the reverence with which they treated me. Everyone, men and women, painted their faces with red stripes and dots. Before the sun rose, the men performed a small dance which seemed to be for pleasure and enjoyment. Following this we drank a sacred brew which tasted like the same brew I had taken with the Awajún and I suspect was the same. The men then formed a line and began a complicated dance following the man in the lead, a pattern of steps forward and backward while thumping the ground with our walking sticks and then shuffling to the side and repeating the pattern round and round in the center of the long house. All the while we chanted and others in the dance played a flute or a panpipe or shook a rattle. I of course played my panpipe and the yupana I had brought with me from the Tahuantinsuyu which further confirmed the righteousness of my presence.

We then took off the yellow feather headdresses we were wearing and replaced them with ornate feather crowns which had been made earlier, and continued to dance and chant. I had difficulty concentrating and stamped my feet and walking stick routinely without thinking. From the glazed eyes, drooping eyelids, and slack jaws of those on either side of me, they were as exhausted and dazed from the drug we had taken as I was. We had, I was told later, entered the world of our ancestors though exactly why I was not able to determine and none of which I could remember. We danced all day and all night and all the next day, finally stopping shortly after sunset on the second day. Large flat discs of casava bread baked before the ceremony were then brought out and distributed and everyone headed back to their home villages.

These people drank a brew made from coco leaves crushed in a wooden pail with a thick wood pole, and they dried the leaves of the plant called tabaco which they lit on fire and smoked, as do many of the tribes across this land. They also grind it into a powder and inhale it up their nostrils with much sneezing. The first day I had joined them, I was greatly shocked to witness pairs of men openly laying together in a hammock in the long house or strung between two trees outside with their arms wrapped about each other and openly masturbating each other while quietly discussing their congress with their wives, one of which often appeared to be the sister of the other man, or discussing their sexual exploits with other women. I learned indeed that these often were brother's-in-law discussing their wives though other young men not so related often did likewise. It was considered perfectly normal behavior expressing a close, affectionate, and supportive relationship between the two men. I marveled at the idea but I knew it would shock my countrymen and would be considered perverted. (2)

The boy I had first encountered fishing on the river was the first to make an overture to me to join him in his hammock, the afternoon after the ceremony. As I said, he was eighteen, a year and a half my junior. His skin was much darker than mine and his hair thick and coarse, but he did not have an unpleasant face, and he had a firm and muscular body. Having seen others doing it, and these natives walking about naked or almost and flaunting what is private, I easily fell into temptation. I thought at first I would be embarrassed being seen engaged in this wicked sin of Onanism with another male, but by this time I had sunk so low living with these depraved savages that I found the reverse. Being seen by others, men and women, adults and children, was exceedingly stimulating. I was erect far faster than he was, much to his delight and amusement, and the delight and amusement of those watching, proof they said of the fondness and support between us. He was not married but talked longingly about the day he would be and the joy he would experience making babies with his wife. Laying there in the gently swaying hammock with one arm about me and my erect, throbbing penis in his other hand, and with me having one arm about him and stroking his long, slender, black penis with my other hand, I soon had to stop his stroking or I would have exploded.

He at first was confused and thought that I was not finding pleasure in what we were doing, and I did not have the words to explain the problem, but through gestures, and the copious flow of my clear nectar, he figured it out, and with a huge smile, he grasped my swollen member below my glans and squeezed tightly, cutting off my desire. Thousands of leagues apart and our cultures as different as day and night, this was a practice known by men from mountain tops to the seaside, from thick jungles with strange beasts swinging in the treetops to flower-speckled meadows in my homeland. And so we lay there slowly stroking each other, enjoying the pleasure throbbing between our legs and enjoying bringing each other pleasure, the others smiling at us with encouragement as they witnessed our close friendship. At last we came, our seed spurting in the air and spraying each other, spattering our naked bodies with globules of our thick, creamy slime and we gasped for air and quivered with the same pleasure. As I lay there sticky and dripping, I wondered if all men were to engage in such expressions of affection if we would eliminate all wars.

That was the beginning of an onslaught of overtures, everyone wanting to try it with the light-skinned man who had no hood and whose arms and legs were permanently marked with vines and flowers and mysterious symbols. I was approached by boys as young as ten and not yet old enough to produce seed, whom I could not refuse, stroking their little, stiff dinks and watching the spark of desire and pleasure light up their dark eyes and feeling their hot little hands grasping my thick member a joy no matter how often it occurred. And I was approached by older men, men the age of my father or older, the eldest in the village, wrinkled and bent with age, who saw me as some sort of god or omen of good fortune whom I dare not refuse, and who in the end trembled with the same delight if not as copiously nor as violently as I.

I tried to imagine Father and Uncle Paolo snuggling together and masturbating each other while Father talked about fucking Uncle Paolo's sister, my mother, but I could not imagine such a thing and found no arousal with the thinking. I tried to picture myself and my sister's husband, whom I only vaguely knew, stroking each other's cock while he talked about fucking my sister, but again I felt no lust in the idea, though the idea of my sister standing there watching us as the wives of these men watched their husbands and brothers engaged in this private act did send a quiver up the core of my member.

Continuing on my way the next morning despite the temptation to tarry and participate in more hammock play, I next encountered a small group of hunters from the Pâmiwâ, another group of natives who swore allegiance to their village and headman but the villages not united under a higher leader, a practice which appears quite common in many parts of this land. Through pantomime and hand signals I indicated that I had no ill intentions and I offered to join them in their hunting. They did not welcome me with enthusiasm, not knowing if I had any skill or if I would be an asset or a hindrance in the hunt, especially encumbered with the packs I was carrying on my back, but that attitude quickly changed when we were charged by a wild pig and I used my sword to kill it. They were just as impressed with the sharpness of my steel dagger when I gutted it. (3)

That night, there was much joy over our kill, for which they would receive much honour when they brought it back to share with their tribe. I was praised for my bravery and my skill in the hunt, and my superior weapons, and one man in particular seemed to be overly fawning, and I noticed the others glancing at us and holding whispered conversations, causing me to be on my guard for not knowing the ways of others it is easy to cause offense, which a lone man could ill afford to do. As flattering as his praise was, I could not risk making any of his companions jealous. At last the leader of these hunters approached me and through gestures and our limited common vocabulary made the man a gift to me.

Apparently this man accompanied the warriors not because of his skill as a hunter, but to provide them sexual pleasure while away from their wives, a practice I have found quite common among these people for braves on the hunt and for warriors marching off to do battle. As the superior hunter this day, I was being given the opportunity to mount him first. He was, like most men who take on his position, effeminate in appearance and behaviour, and it was not difficult to consider congress with him. Besides, it was expected of me and would be an insult to him, and to his fellows, to refuse, which again I could ill afford to do. Both were good reasons to have congress with the young man. There was an even greater reason. I could see the desire to copulate with me in his eyes, and his desire filled my heart and my loins with lust. I had become as degenerate as these heathen savages were.

We did not even seek the privacy of the jungle. He dropped to his hands and knees there by the fire and while his fellows sat and ate the portion of pig we had cooked, I knelt behind him and lubricated his asshole with pig fat, which I also smeared over my erect cock, and I took him from behind like a boar in rut. In fact I thought of us as that, two wild pigs in rut, which drove me to even greater lust, and I pumped my hips to and fro in a frenzy and delighted in the throbbing of my cock and the burning of my bulb. One of the men commented that I fucked as savagely as I killed, meaning it as a complement, and the others agreed and they cheered me on. There was only one objective of sex for these men and that was to bring oneself pleasure.

I slapped my loins against the young brave's backside, spearing him repeatedly with my throbbing, benumbed cock until I was rewarded with the burning delight of my orgasm. As I filled his rectum with my seed, he arched his back and gasped as his own seed spurted out of his stiff cock, evidently finding pleasure in my rough congress. To my surprise, he caught his seed in his right hand, and when he was done he raised his hand and sucked the slime back into his body there in front of his comrades. The leader of these men stepped forward and took his turn, followed by several others apparently in order of rank. I watched these men mount the individual with lurid and unabashed interest, my cock slick with pig grease and another man's ass slime and dripping with my seed, proud of having been the first and finding my cock rising once again with lust with the idea of the cocks of the other men sliding in and out of the man's asshole and becoming coated with my slime.

The third hunter to approach their "woman" glanced at me and then grunted something to the man. Without a word or the slightest hesitation he crawled over to me and nudging apart my legs with his head, he slipped his lips over the bulb of my stiff member and down the shaft to my balls. To take my whole cock, which was over two hand-widths long, was evidence that not only was this not new to him, but he was skilled in doing it. The third hunter meanwhile knelt down behind him and took him. The thought of his young, effeminate man sucking and swallowing my seed and his ass slime coating my cock while being fucked by the prurient young brave grunting and snorting behind him caused an ache deep in my loins so painful it felt as if they had been stabbed. I inhaled deeply and arched my back as my swollen member ached and throbbed, eager to fill the man's stomach just as I had filled his rectum with my seed half a candle mark earlier.

And so the two of us had congress with the fellow, his companion grasping his hips and thrusting his member in and out of his ass, already filled with the seed of two of his companions and myself, and me grasping his shoulders and grunting and snorting with the desire to release my seed a second time. I could smell the stink of their sweat and my own which was trickling down my ribs as my cock went numb and I knew my seed would soon follow. The fellow between my legs snorted and slurped with his eagerness to draw out my seed and the fellow behind him grunted as he thrust his cock in and out of the man's ass. I sucked in the lust-laden air and quivered as I felt my hot, thick seed burn up the core of my cock and I threw my head back in ecstasy as I began to spurt my seed into his mouth. I was Baracutey, the One Who Travels Alone, warrior, hunter, the fucker of men and boys. Nicolau Ribeiro was no more.

Upon arrival at their village we were treated with much respect and gratitude for the food we had returned with. I was particularly worshipped by the young, unmarried girls, girls about to enter puberty, girls of ten years of age, who, as did their mothers, saw me as a great provider and the father of strong boys. Girls once they reach puberty marry so young boys have no sexual outlets with the opposite sex and instead turn to each other for gratification of their sexual needs until the next girl becomes available. Fearful that I would take one of the young girls who flocked around me in their place, these young suitors who wanted the girls as their wives, especially those most desired by the girls and their families, made it clear by their behaviour that they would willingly see to my sexual needs instead. These young boys were the prime of the tribe, strong, muscular, and skilled in the hunt and even in killing though only in their early to mid teens, boys whom I found as desirable as did the prepubescent girls and their hopeful mothers.

So that first night back, after the tribe had feasted and the songs and dances in tribute to the hunters and to me were done, I retired with the strongest, bravest, handsomest boy of the tribe, a boy of fourteen. He caressed me and kissed me and skipped his lips over my body, determined to distract me from any thoughts of the willing young maidens, not knowing that I had no lust for them. To his surprise, I returned his kisses, pressing my lips to his, and I snuggled down and slipped my lips about his right nipple and sucked on it and teased it with my tongue until it was hard. I continued to tease it until my tongue sent shards of painful pleasure cutting through it and he tensed as if being sliced by a knife. When he went down on my stiff cock, it was with pure lust and desire, not desperation to distract me, and he sucked on my swollen cock and slid his lips up and down the throbbing shaft because he wanted my cock and he wanted me to fill his mouth with my seed. He wanted this hunter just as badly as he wanted the nubile young maiden he had lusted for that morning for the pleasure this hunter was bringing him, a pleasure that he could only hope his future wife might bring him. When I came, he drank my thick, bitter seed as if it were a sweet treat and he gasped and sighed with pleasure.

I waited, and then began to caress him again, and being fourteen he was quickly and easily aroused, his cock again springing to erection, and again I assaulted his nipples until they burned and ached like the teats of a new mother, and this time I took him from behind and fucked him, tweaking his nipples and causing him to lurch and squirm like a worm on a hook. Grasping his smooth hips, I thrust my cock deep up his rectum until my hairs were pressed against his smooth buttocks, and then I withdrew until my bulb was about to stretch open his anus. I closed my eyes and sighed with the pleasure of having my aching cock surrounded by hot, pulsating flesh, and the boy sighed with the pleasure of having his ass fucked. When at last I filled this prurient boy's rectum with my seed, he spurted his own and sighed with the pleasure of a virgin on her wedding night, catching his seed with his hand and drinking it as the hunter had done the night I had taken him after the hunt.

My fame as a man spread quickly through the tribe the next morning and that day unmarried boys flocked to me and their willingness to join me in congress could not be clearer. They readily bent over to be fucked or knelt before me to suck me. By the end of the day my stones were aching and pulled up tight at the base of my cock. The boys had been eager to prevent me from competing with them for the attention of the available girls, but to be truthful, they were just as eager to discover if the claims of exceptional pleasure by those who preceded them were true.

I knew I could not repeat another day this way, but the following morning one of the older men brought a shy, nervous boy to me, a boy who had experienced his first wet dream, a boy whom he said was eleven seasons old, and asked if I would have congress with the boy so that the boy might learn about congress between males from one who was skilled in bringing such pleasure, and if we would do so in his presence so that the boy might gain confidence in having congress before others. Given the innocence of the boy, and his cherubic good-looks, I could not deny the elder, who had to have been told of my prowess with the young men in the tribe by one of the young boys I had congress with the day before. So that afternoon I took the boy, whose head came to the middle of my chest, to a clearing in the jungle near the village and there we sat and I caressed him. His body was smooth and soft, lacking the definition and hardness of the hunters and warriors only several years older than himself, but his muscles having tone and firmness from the active physical life he lead. I caressed his smooth, compact buttocks, and ran my finger up his crack and fingered his little pucker, causing him to squirm.

I then had him do the same to me, and my cock quickly hardened with his hesitant, uncertain touch and the look of apprehension, curiosity and anticipation in his eyes. I then had him stand on a fallen log and I knelt and I sucked his little cocklet which quickly hardened, and I delighted in its silky smoothness. I knew I dare not linger too long or he would spend his seed, so I had him repeat the deed on me, having him lick my stiff cock and then slip his lips about the bulb and suck, instructing him on how to breathe and pleasure me at the same time. All the while the elder sat in the shadows and watched, and the boy, conscious of his presence, darted his eyes in his direction every opportunity he had. I could imagine the thoughts going through his mind being watched engaging in this most intimate of acts between two males by an adult, my own lust surging through my loins.

I then lubricated his little pucker with a bit of fat the elder had brought with him, and turning him around and having him bend over, I lubricated my cock and placed the tip against his anus. Grasping his hips, I eased my cock forward, slowly entering his rectum for the first time of his life, slowly stretching open his tight, virgin anus and then slowly sinking my thick, throbbing cock up his rectum until it was buried to the hilt and my coarse hairs were pressed against the youngster's smooth, compact buttocks. I fucked him slowly, wanting him to experience pleasure this first time, and I held back until he spurted for the second time of his young life, and the first conscious spending of his seed. He gasped and quivered with pleasure as his thin, watery seed spurted from his trembling little reed and which I caught in my left hand, and then I filled his rectum with my own seed and he quivered and trembled with both my pleasure and the pleasure of feeling his rectum being filled with the hot, thick seed of a man. As I gasped for breath, he lapped up his seed I had caught and sucked it up from my palm and licked it from my fingers. Both of us had forgotten that we were being watched in our shared pleasure and arousal.

These people have great reverence for a man's seed, and the women, once it is known they are pregnant, often have sex with several other males for it is believed that semen gives the baby in her belly strength, and so the more semen that bathes the baby the stronger the baby will be. The husband does not appear to mind, and indeed, often will lay beside the coupling couple and watch, his own cock limp and his balls pulled up tight against his body and drained of his own seed. Both friends and brothers are welcome to mount his wife and fill her cunt with their seed. I have witnessed several husbands sitting and watching as withered elders with bodies as wrinkled as their testicles, and young teenage braves half the age of the proud father, stepped up and filled his wife's belly, and bathed his growing baby, with their slime. Back home a man having congress with another man's wife would warrant a duel to the death and the husband would be sorely shamed!

That same day it was announced that one of the young men, a boy of fifteen, was to marry a girl who had come of age by having her first flow a couple weeks earlier. There was much excitement and joy as everyone prepared for the wedding. That night there was a large feast with the groom the center of attention. Sitting at his right side was the brother of the bride, a boy two years younger than the groom. There was much laughter and much drinking, and it was soon obvious that the groom and the brother of his wife-to-be were becoming intoxicated. They embraced and kissed as if they were the lovers, and before their guests, they lay down and the groom mounted the boy! The younger boy lay on his back and spread his legs while the husband-to-be knelt between his future brother-in-law's legs. The younger boy raised his hips and the older boy shuffled closer and positioned the tip of his stiff cock against the boy's anus. He pressed forward slowly, and the two united there before the rest of the tribe, before men and women, young and old, the groom before his future mother and father-in-law and before his wife, the boy before his parents and his sister, the bride-to-be!

There was much cheering and encouragement as the two began to fuck, and I had to wonder what the parents of the two boys were thinking as they watched, and what the bride to be had to be thinking as she watched her future husband fucking her brother. The thought caused my own member to twitch and begin to swell with lust, something impossible to hide given the scanty clothing I wore, and it was evident when I glanced around that I was not the only male who was finding the performance arousing. The thought that the husband to be had his cock up his bride's brother's asshole while she sat there watching was perverted, and that I found it arousing was evidence of my own deep perversion, but everyone around me treated it as being perfectly natural. When the older boy came up his future brother-in-law's ass, the younger boy spilt his own seed, which was caught in a large leaf which had been placed beside the couple in anticipation, seen as a good omen, and the couple shared the young man's seed.

The next night, there was another great feast and the groom mounted the bride, this time in the privacy of a temporary hut erected for that purpose and with much less ceremony and celebration, as if it were an anticlimax to the marriage. As I lay alone that night, I could not stop thinking how now the young husband had his cock buried up his wife's cunt and was filling her with his seed, just as the night before she had sat and watched him bury his cock up her brother's ass and fill him with seed. I wondered if she was thinking of that as she lay there on her back with her legs spread, and if her brother was thinking of her this night. I had been away the day of my sister's wedding. I tried to imagine her husband fucking me the first night, and her the second. As my cock began to swell, I reached down and stroked it and I could not erase the thought from my mind. Nor could I stop thinking how everyone had made much more of the first event than today's. It gave me cause to contemplate how different the customs were in this land, and to wonder if it was because God had abandoned these peoples, and if this might be what life was like for those who worshiped Satan. I found the thoughts most troubling and I slept restlessly, and I awoke in the early hours of the morning to find I had fouled myself. It had been a long time since I have had a nocturnal emission. (4)

From the Pâmiwâ I travelled along several small tributaries, eventually arriving at a larger river which arched to the north and then from what I could determine from the movement of the sun and moon began to head west. Christmas Eve arrived by my calculations and I spent the day and evening and the next day in silent contemplation and prayer, alone and uncertain. It was on such occasions that I was filled with great melancholy and remorse and I begged forgiveness of the Lord and thanked Him for my continued survival in these danger-fraught lands. I could not help but think of the grievous sins I have engaged in, taking the lives of others, engaging in pleasures of the flesh in ways most foul, and neglecting my vow to spread His Word among these heathen savages. It was little wonder that He had forsaken me.

It was also on these occasions when I was not struggling and fearing for my very survival and had time to think that I thought back to fond memories of my family and how joyous this time of year was. Recalling the fragrance of freshly baked bread and of Christmas goose roasting in the oven, the laughter of children and the exchange of gifts between family and friends, the memories flooded back and filled my eyes with tears. The sepulchral visit of Uncle Paolo early in this mad journey through the jungle wavered before my eyes also and sent a shiver of dread and longing through my being. My dear uncle dead. And how much longer could I live among these people before I joined him, the casualty of war or of the hunt? I prayed fervently for the welfare of my loved ones, no longer holding onto the hope I would see them again. Those memories that once brought hope and joy now only brought sorrow and regret.

Two days later I encountered the first of several villages along the river, a group of peoples who call themselves the Yanõmami. They use the word thëpë to refer to themselves and to distinguish themselves from the yaro (game animals), the yai (invisible or nameless beings), and the napë (enemy or stranger). They, men and women, children and adults alike, are a fierce-looking people, piercing the septum of their nose, their lower lip and the corners of their mouth and inserting reeds in the holes. The men don't wear any clothing at all, not even loincloths, and support their member by wrapping it and supporting it with a string like belt. The women only wear a loincloth and of course the children go naked. Men and women decorate their bodies with flowers and feathers and were very intrigued by my tattoos, which I suspect were responsible for me not being killed on sight and for their subsequent caution in any dealings with me, which, Dear Lord, I am most grateful and most unworthy.

They did greet me with great suspicion and hostile looks and I never felt safe the whole time I was with them. They are a violent, brutal people, the men physically abusing their women daily for the slightest offense and treating them lower than slaves. The boys I found mimicked their fathers and had no respect for the female members of the tribe, even for their mothers. Having been raised to respect the fair sex, and especially one's mother, I found it most difficult to bide my time and bite my tongue and almost daily I found myself reaching for my sword, a reprimand on the tip of my tongue. These people live in autonomous villages three or four days travel apart and owe loyalty only to their headman, the tuxawa, who was chosen their leader because of his skill in settling disputes, of which there appeared to be many.

Each village consists of fifty to four hundred people, and is mainly an extended family living under a common roof. This roof (shabone) is oval in shape with the center open to the sky, individual space and family homes being marked off by support poles. The building is often surrounded by a palisade for protection. Most of the people have only one spouse, but I found that the richer practice both polyandry and polygyny, which I found most strange, and most confusing. When one is living with more than one father or more than one mother I can see where there is not the same respect for one's parents as among civilized people where there is only one of each. Like all other tribes they spend their day foraging, hunting, and fishing, and like other tribes their main diet consists of cassava, grubs and fruits.

Also like the other tribes their shaman uses drugs for healing, and my knowledge of healing I suspect was the second reason I was treated as well as I was, with begrudging respect and a sense of apprehension for healers have the ears of the gods. The men also take drugs to commune with their spirits, in this case one man blowing the powder up the nose of another man using a long reed. One very strange practice of theirs is to wrap the body of a deceased kinsman in leaves and leave it to decay. They then collect and cremate the bones and mix the ashes with a soup made from bananas. This soup is eaten by the community to strengthen their spirit and is saved and eaten throughout the year on special occasions. I fortunately was not that honored a guest and did not stay long enough at any one village to participate in either practice. (5)

Also like their neighboring tribes, it was quite common to form threesomes between a husband, wife, and the wife's brother. And it was common for young teenage boys to have sex with each other with the absence of available girls, and for boys to engage in sex with men. These practices were in fact so common they occurred daily and I no longer noticed. Of course I was approached by the young boys of each village who were eager to try someone new. Besides being new, I was different, and a challenge for these young braves who competed with each other for my attention. I played my role, using my differences, my lighter skin, my tattoos, my strange and superior weapons, and the lack of a hood on my penis, to enhance their apprehension and fear, for these were not a people who tolerated weakness. The first youth of this tribe with whom I had congress, about a week after entering their territory, was a twelve-year-old who had only recently reached puberty. It was that which attracted me to him over the others, and it was that which made him more aggressive than the other youth.

He was openly aggressive, flaunting his member, which was larger than most his age and he knew it, and strutting before me, flexing his still developing muscles and displaying the new piercings in his lower lip having now entered puberty. I teased him a bit as I could not appear too eager least it be considered a weakness, but I egged him on with sly looks and by suggestively stroking my thighs. I knew the game well. We ended up having congress in the dark behind a support pole in the oval house surrounded by his family before whom he performed proudly and who acknowledged him out of the corner of their eye. It was different with this boy, as it is with every boy. His goal, like all young boys, was his own personal gratification and achieving an orgasm, and like all young boys he felt the faster he achieved both the better it was. With him I made no attempt at foreplay nor at tenderness, for in witnessing the adults in their heterosexual couplings there was little love expressed and the man's satisfaction, and the impregnation of his wife, were the only purposes in the act.

I debated if we should take turns taking the dominant role, and if so which of us should go first, or if I alone should play the dominant role, asserting my place by age and station. The third choice, that I take the recessive role, was not an option, not in this society where one's manhood was on display daily. And so I turned him around and forced him to his knees, firmly but not roughly, which was what he and the others had expected to happen, and greasing up his hole and my member, I knelt behind him and took him. It was crude and one-sided, again as he had expected it to be and as was expected of me. The coarseness and pure physicality were arousing in its own way and made it a different act. It was none the less erotic nor unpleasant, and my member throbbed with desire and his flesh throbbed about it just as pleasantly. I did pause to allow my lust to subside and to prolong the pleasure, for both of us, a novelty for him. When I came, I grasped his hips firmly and thrust my cock deeply, delighting in the burning sensation of my ejaculation and the flooding of my seed up his stoppered rectum. He did not express the same pleasure in being filled with my seed nor did he rejoice with me in my orgasm, but from the curl of his lips and the deep sigh when I came, I knew he had felt pleasure.

Withdrawing my spent cock, I immediately dropped to my hands and knees and the boy took his place behind me. His cock was the typical size of a twelve-year-old boy, about as long as my palm is wide, and two fingers thick. He quickly greased it and my hole and placing the tip against my anus, he grasped my hips and thrust forward, sinking his weapon up my ass. He was no novice in this pleasure. Itching with lust and the need to ejaculate, he fucked me rapidly and erratically, rutting like a little jackrabbit, and I knew it would fall on deaf ears to tell him to slow down so I said nothing. It was erotic being fucked there in the dark by this twelve-year-old boy, more than seven and a half years my junior, who mimicked the actions of the men in the tribe.

I recalled how mysterious and delightful congress was when one was first beginning, and recalling my own apprehension and delight made it easy for me to relate to how he was feeling. That he was fucking a man, and a man of power and mystery besides, had to have added to his enjoyment, and his prestige since sex, for these people, was as much about power and pride as it was pleasure. Having gone first, I suffered no loss of prestige by allowing this young boy to mount me despite my seniority and higher rank for I was obviously bestowing upon the boy a favor, adding to both my prestige and his for I obviously need not have done so. He was soon quivering as he shot his youthful load up my ass, gasping with the exertion and the undeniable pleasure, gripping my buttocks for balance as his head spun and his young cocklet throbbed out his seed just like any pubescent child though when we uncoupled he glanced at me guardedly, not daring to show any gratitude. The next morning I continued on my way, the boy out fishing with his friends and likely bragging about the previous night.

These people knew of the Great Ocean Sea to the west, and upon arriving at each village I was assured it was only a short travel by canoa away. Despite their warnings of a warlike tribe that lived there, powerful and fearsome and who cooked and ate their captives, I was eager to see this sea, and to be gone from these peoples. Despite my position among them, I knew it could not last, and I was in no frame of mind to try to maintain it. So, it was a matter of die here along the banks of this unknown river in this stinking, humid jungle, or die along the shores of this supposed Ocean Sea. I longed to be able to look out and see nothing but sky and the open waters. I longed to fill my lungs once again with air pungent with the primordial fragrance of tidal pools and to feel the salt spray on my face, to taste it on my lips. If I was destined to die, let it be with the sights, smells and sounds of my boyhood even if it is alone on this foreign soil. And so I bundled up my belongings each morning and continued on my way.

Chapter 24
The Carib

Nico follows the coast north to the Kalina where he is challenged and uses his sword. At the village they are attacked by the Arawaks and he uses his skills and weapons to help fight off the attackers and is rewarded with a night with effeminate 14yo concubine of chief. Attack Kalinago and receives Taino woman (Anacaona and her 6 yo son Jutia). Island hops seeking her homeland and joins Kalinago in battle after which they burn 2 captives at the stake and eat their flesh and he realizes these are the Caniba or Caritaba that the Taino had warned about upon his first arrival with Columbus. He is seen as a good omen. After another battle he is given plump effeminate castrated 15 yo Arawak captive called Arasibo. 

Characters: unnamed 14 yo concubine, Anacaona, Jutia, Arasibo 

Codes: tF (fuck), tb, tt; oral, anal 

I found myself two weeks later standing at the mouth of the river where it emptied into the great Ocean Sea which extended to the north and south and to the east as far as I could see. A light breeze was blowing in from across the ocean, carrying with it those delightful odors of the ocean as continually squawking and complaining gulls glided over the blue-green water in search of fish. Tears blurred my vision and I dropped to my knees and gave thanks to Our All-merciful, All-knowing Lord that my last breaths might be filled with those delightful fragrances I knew and loved. I spent the day weaving a crude sail from the reeds growing in the sand dunes along the shore and the next day I attempted to travel south as having come down from the north I figured continuing south would be my best option. The prevailing current and winds ran north and west along the coastline however, and so I bowed to nature and the Will of God and decided to go where the currents and the winds and our Merciful Lord in Heaven took me. Having once again found the great Ocean Sea, I was happy just to travel on it no matter the direction rather than having to once again cut my way along entangled, twisting game trails through the dense, stinking jungle.

The next day I was intercepted by two canoa of fishermen, each having six fishermen. Knowing I would never out paddle them, nor outfight them, I lay my oars down and made no move to reach for my weapons as I gestured to them that I came in peace. A single man in a small canoa, I certainly presented no threat to them. Following them to shore, I pulled my vessel up out of the water and began to pick up my belongings under their watchful eyes. As I reached for my spear and sword, a young man who was evidently their leader, stepped forward and motioned for me to leave them. Shaking my head and motioning that I intended on strapping my sword onto my body, he stepped forward to stop me.

Having anticipated their reaction, I had gotten as close to my weapons as I could. Having the advantage that they had no idea what the scabbard was nor that it contained a weapon and so had expected me to go for my spear which was farther away, I managed to quickly pick up my sword and draw it out of its beaten and tattered scabbard. I turned and raised my weapon, prepared to defend myself. Although cautious and having no idea what kind of weapon I held, the warriors saw little danger in my sword in light of their numbers and the length of their spears. They slowly formed a circle about me and their leader, and from their smiles they were more amused and looking forward to witnessing the battle between us than they were frightened. The warrior stepped forward, holding his spear in a typical thrusting position. I batted it aside and nimbly sidestepped each time he lunged, and of course with each lunge he became more frustrated and more careless.

After several such thrusts, I swiped my sword sideways, the blade easily cutting through the shaft of the spear, much to the surprise and amazement of the natives. Surprised but undaunted, he circled me carefully, still trying to stab me with the bottom half of his spear which was now closer to the length of my sword. Giving it up, he switched it to his left hand and with his right took out a flint knife strapped to his waist and began circling me once again. Each time he lunged, I batted away the knife and easily sidestepped him. Although I had no wish to seriously injure him and tried my best not to, I finally nicked his thrusting arm with the tip of my sword. I wished to defeat him but not kill him, which I could easily have done having the superior weapon, for there would be no way his companions would let me live and I could not fight all of them. Even though the sharpness of my weapon was evident and he had no chance against it with a knife, he was determined to beat me, and though at any time he could have had his companions throw their spears at me, he clearly wanted to defeat me himself. Raising my hand in what I hoped would be understood as a signal to stop, I slowly crouched down and placed my sword on the ground, and then slowly unstrapped my own knives and laid them down beside my sword. Slowly standing and raising my fists, I motioned that I would fight him without weapons, and if I succeeded, I would keep my weapons, and if he won, he could take my weapons.

This much surprised them, and they talked together, a tongue not unlike that spoken by the Yanõmami. Between gestures and common phrases, I confirmed my intent. With a huge smile, he dramatically tossed his knife to the ground, the blade sinking deep into the ground and the handle quivering, intending I suspect of demonstrating its sharpness and hoping to frighten me. Slowly raising his hands, he approached me. We were, I figured, closely matched. We appeared to be near the same age, and though I was taller and heavier than he was, from the way he moved he appeared to be faster and the more agile. From the development of his upper torso I suspected he spent a lot of time paddling his canoa, but lately so had I. My trek across this land had also hardened the muscles of my legs and arms and I was just as broad-chested as he was so I figured we were of equal strength. The result of our fight would, in my opinion, come down to skill.

I let him make the first move, an attempt to wrap his arms about me to pin my arms to my side and throw me to the ground. I was thankful now for the many wrestling sessions I had engaged in for training and for amusement while traveling with the Tamurid barbarians who were as skilled at this sport as they were at horseback riding. Although several years had passed since I had last used those skills, I had been well trained for the Tamurid warriors held nothing back and followed no rules, even when engaging in this sport for amusement, and they were skills one did not forget. Breaking his hold and squirming out of his grasp, I attempted to circle about him and put him into a hold that I knew would force him to his knees, and to yield or end up with a broken spine, but he was skilled also, and each time evaded me or wriggled out of my hold, sometimes tripping me and sending me sprawling besides, to the amusement of his companions.

He was agile and fast as I had suspected, but each time I managed to scramble to my feet before he reached me. By this time we were both glistening with sweat under the heat of the oppressive sun of this land, and his companions were wild with excitement, at times forgetting I was the enemy and cheering a good move on my part. Their companion was becoming impatient, and with each success on his part, more confident and daring. For that I was glad for it also meant he was becoming more careless. I also had the advantage of having been trained in techniques that were evidently unknown to him, footwork and holds that had been passed down from one Tamurid generation of instructors to the next.

Finally I saw my opening, and spinning behind him with a false leap to the right and then a leap to the left, I slipped my arms under his and reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck. He twisted and turned and tried to knock me off balance but could not break my hold and I slowly forced him to his knees, using my weight and height. I told him to yield or I would snap his neck, but he continued to struggle, whether because he did not understand my language or out of obstinance I do not know. I increased the pressure slightly to cause more pain until at last he admitted defeat and ceased struggling. I released him and cautiously stepped back. He rubbed his sore neck and shoulder blade and scowled at me as he got to his feet. Slowly holding out his arms, palms up, he scowled with humiliation and repressed anger as he made a gesture of submission. Smiling, I made a bow of acceptance, and stepping forward gave him a slap on the back, hoping that meant the same to them as it did to me. He looked at me confused at first as he raised his fists to strike at me, and then at his companions who were just as surprised, and then grinned and slapped me on the back also, much harder and almost knocking me off my feet.

And so we walked up to their village a short distance from the shoreline and our encounter was described and I was welcomed by these people who call themselves the Kalina. Like the Yanõmami, they went about naked, men and women, children and adults, and like the Yanõmami they painted their bodies and were intrigued by my tatoos, which being permanent, they too figured that was how I had been born. They did not indulge in the practice of piercing and decorating their faces with reeds and their skin was more of a brown hue, still markedly darker than mine despite the deep tan I had developed under this blazing sun. I learned that also like the Yanõmami they were not organized under chiefs and subchiefs, but were loyal only to the headman of their village. (1)

They live, like many of the tribes I have met, in small villages of extended families according to the female line, the men moving in with their wife's relatives and the women having considerable say in what the village does. The men are strongly independent and place a great value on individual strength and skills needed in warfare and in hunting. There was, I discovered, one exception. The headman, and occasionally the more powerful warriors of a village, kept one or more young men who wore strings of beads and bracelets and shells in their hair as adornments like the women. They did not hunt nor engage in warfare, but instead performed the same duties as women, looking after the household and preparing the meals, and of course they performed the other role that women normally do for their husbands.

I showed them my sword and demonstrated its sharpness, and despite my warnings, several cut their fingers when they reached out to touch the blade. The headman and the more prestigious warriors were most desirous to own such weapons as my sword and steel dagger and offered me trade, pearls from the sea, silver and gold ornaments to wear in my hair and arm and leg bands, concubines, one of the effeminate young men of the chief, a boy of about fifteen, and even my choice of a daughter from a man who had half a dozen between the ages of four and eleven, any of which I could have picked. I of course respectfully declined all offers, risking offending them when the offers were of their greatest possessions. Although disgruntled, they had a great respect for my weapons and to my relief at last relented.

The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of alarm and fighting. The village was under attack. I grabbed my sword and rushed out to join my hosts and was immediately confronted by a tall, muscular savage in fierce war paint brandishing a hardwood machete already fringed with bright red blood. He was of course no match for a sword and I left him on his knees staring at the bloody stump of his right arm. I attacked in a frenzy, more angry than I was afraid, batting aside thrust spears and slashing with my sword. My presence and weapon were a surprise to our attackers and an encouragement to my hosts, who soon put our attackers to flight. Although we had won and had killed many of the enemy, it was a mournful day as the injured were treated and the dead buried. Again, my knowledge and skill as a header came in handy as I assisted their shaman in seeing to the wounds of the injured. Our attackers, whom I was told were Arawaks, were dragged away from the village to rot. (2)

As an honored guest and a great warrior besides a healer, I was offered my choice of any of the female concubines, and even a few of the unmarried maidens and a couple wives that evening. There was no question that my presence and my sword had determined the outcome of the attack and there would have been far more dead and many captured otherwise. I also knew that contrary to the values of my countrymen who would be outraged if a man had congress with the wife of a married man, and both the man and his wife greatly scandalized, these savages considered it a great gift to offer a wife to a stranger, and a great blessing should the wife be impregnated in that surely she would bear a son who would be as great a warrior as his father, a son who would be as accepted as if he had been fathered by the husband unlike in my homeland where such a boy would be branded as bastard for his life and treated with contempt.

I chose for my award one of the effeminate young men of the chief, a boy of about fourteen, for I knew to refuse any reward would have been an insult and would imply that I was too good for anything they had to offer. The boy was attractive to look at and proud to have been selected by so great a warrior, and the chief was proud that I had chosen one of his boy concubines over those of the other warriors. The boy was skilled, I discovered, and brought me much pleasure, as I brought him. So, my choice offended nobody, and pleased many, another strange custom of these strange people. Of course they were not Christians.

I was reminded once again of my previous travels which had taken me into the lands of the Saracens and the Tamurid barbarians, of the bath boys and dancing boys and concubines and harems whose purpose was to provide pleasure to the heathen warriors and nobility. There are some things which are universal across this huge world no matter who the people and what the customs, and one of those things is the appreciation of the tenderness and charms of a naked young boy and the presence of such boys who find delight in satisfying the sexual lusts of men who have such an appreciation. Yes, I must admit, even among Christians as I found out in my travels across the Italies.

We caressed each other gently and lovingly, slowly arousing each other, my long, thick member and his short, slender one both rising and standing proudly and demanding attention. I caressed his young cock with the tips of my fingers, a feather-light touch that caused it to jerk with excitement, and he did likewise to me, causing my cock to leak the first droplets of sweet, clear nectar. He bent over and flipped up that droplet with the tip of his tongue and savored it and I kissed him and savored the taste of my nectar on his lips. He went down on me, engulfing my throbbing cock in his mouth, and I twisted around and slipped my lips over this slender, tender sausage and I sucked on it, delighting in its velvet smoothness, its delightful musky odor, and the throbbing, powerful lust of a fourteen-year-old boy. I clamped my lips tight below his hooded bulb to cut off his desire, and he soon did likewise to me. We lay there, eagerly sucking on each other's cock, thankful we were both alive, thankful for the pleasure we were feeling and for the pleasure we knew we were giving the other.

Finally unable to delay any longer, we worked our lips up and down each other's shaft and sucked like two babes at their mother's teats, and we were rewarded by a warm, thick cream that had to be as delightful as a mother's milk. I spurted repeatedly, the core of my cock and the tip burning with the force of my spurts, and he eagerly swallowed my slime. At the same time his slender cocklet throbbed and his thin, sweet juice spurted into my mouth and I savored his seed and swallowed it just as eagerly. When at last we had drained each other's balls, we twisted around and kissed, tasting each other's seed on each other's lips.

We rested for a bit and began to caress and kiss again, and again we delighted in each other's touch and in each other's lust. I do not know whom he thanked or which gods if any he worshiped, but I found myself thanking Xochipilli and Chin and any and all gods for being alive and for having the pleasure of congress with a lustful, young boy. In reward for my grateful thanks, once again my cock rose up to attention, as did his. This time he lay on his back and raised his hips and I lubricated his tender pucker and my stiff cock with animal fat and I penetrated him. Despite our experience and the lubrication we found him tight, adding to my pleasure, and we grunted and snorted like two pigs in rut as we attempted to unite until at last I felt my bulb pop inside his rectum. I slowly sank my cock up his delightful, hot, moist chamber, burying it up to the hairy base with his tiny balls nestled in my coarse hairs.

I slowly worked my cock in and out of his hot, throbbing hole, and he clenched his sphincter and relaxed it in time with my thrusts and withdrawals, smiling up at me with dazed delight and I smiled back down at him. My stiff cock throbbed hotly up his rectum, pulsating in time with my heart and in time with the pulsating of his ass flesh. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the musky fragrance of boy sweat. I bent over and we kissed and he squeezed his thighs about my legs and gyrated, delighting in the feel of my throbbing cock deep up his ass. There is no greater pleasure than knowing the intense pleasure a boy is feeling when being fucked. There is no greater sight than that of a young boy's cocklet jutting up hard and flushed with lust. I paused so we could relish those pleasures and then we resumed, once again building up to that ultimate point.

I paused once more and then continued, by which time we were both gasping and panting with exertion and with pleasure, sweat trickling down our naked bodies, our groins numb with pleasure. Again I felt the twang deep in my loins and my seed burn its way up the core of my cock and out the tip of my swollen member. Although it was the second time that night, I came just as violently and as copiously as the first time, this time filling his rectum with my slime instead of his mouth. As squirt after squirt shot up his ass, the boy thrust his hips up and his little cocklet began to fountain, his sweet, thin seed spurting up into the air and spattering my stomach and chest, and falling back to spatter his naked, heaving body. Streamers of his thin, white juice trickled down my chest and down his ribs, globules pooled on his flat stomach and in his coarse hairs. We gasped once again with that ultimate pleasure, sucking in the musky fragrance of our spilt seed.

When I left the next morning with a string of pearls from the headman in appreciation for my protection of his people and his village, I left also with the memory of the pearly streamers of the young boy and myself, and the smile on his face as we parted in the morning. And so it was that I made my way along the coast, passing from village to village, my reputation preceding me, and it became a custom that with each new village their strongest challenged me, and though I no longer risked my sword or steel knives, I did offer other of my belongings, including the shells, pearls and occasional gold ornaments I was beginning to collect as my winnings. And, each night, I bedded their most luscious, more desired young boys, and so great were their appeal and so great was my lust that my balls were never drained.

A week later I found myself once more in a war party, this time the village I had arrived at having planned an attack on a tribe living on an island near the shore, a tribe they called the Kalinago, and having been awaiting my arrival with great anticipation. We attacked with a dozen canoa, all fitted with sails and carrying a dozen men each, killing the opposing warriors and capturing their women to become wife-slaves. Of course my sword was unmatched and I found myself killing more than my share simply to stay alive. Upon our return to the men's home village, the spoils of war were distributed. The headman of course had first choice, followed by the most victorious warrior, myself. I of course had no interest in the women, and even if I had, despite all the barbaric experiences I have had, I am still a Christian and would never take a woman as a spoil of war. At the same time I knew it was expected of me and to not follow their custom would be a great offense.

As I surveyed the half dozen captives, my eyes fell upon a young woman who appeared to be about my age who stood out from the others in that her skin was more of an olive-brown. Actually what I did notice was the boy clinging fearfully to her, a boy of about six, his eyes wide with apprehension, but also with a grim determination setting his mouth into a firm line that he would bravely face whatever was about to befall him and that he would fight to his death to defend the woman he was clinging to. A plan suddenly popped into my mind and I indicated my choice, the two of them. Several of the other warriors glanced at me with surprise and open hostility, but there was no question that I and my superior weapons had far outdone any other, even if it had been motivated by survival and not greed or ego. None was willing to challenge me.

Following the selection there was a huge feast of fish, duck and iguana meat flavored with red and green peppers and roasted with the usual melons and roots common across this area to celebrate the tribe's victory with much singing and dancing, and much bragging by the warriors, and much praise for myself and my sword. There was also much drinking of ovicou, a very potent beer made of fermented cassava. As the night progressed, the warriors slipped away to celebrate with their wives or their newly claimed wife-slaves. I finally rose and left with my spoils of the war, to the cheers and good wishes and ribald comments of the remaining warriors, and with the reputation of my sexual preference having preceded me, bets as to which of the two would be penetrated by my spear first.

I of course had no desire to engage in the pleasures of the flesh with either one of them, but being uncivilized heathens, these savages have no concept of privacy and what was going to eventually happen would be known by everyone. As I began to attempt to assure them I meant them no harm, I discovered though these Kalinago looked very much like the Kalina who had attacked them, their languages were markedly different. So I tried to explain my intentions with gestures and the few words the two tribes had in common.

"Baracutey," I said, pointing to myself.

"One Who Travels Alone," responded the woman, much to my surprise. "Anacaona," she continued, pointing to herself.

"Golden Flower," I translated and her face lit up. "Jutia," she said, pointing to the boy, and I knew the name referred to a rabbit-like animal.

"Taino?" I asked in disbelief and she nodded with great joy. She asked the same of me but I shook my head and explained I had lived with the Taino for a short time, now many seasons past. Overjoyed, she embraced and kissed me, thanking the gods that I had been the one to choose her as my wife-slave. I began to explain that I had not chosen her to be my wife, but she was so relieved she did not listen, and as an afterthought I was not sure if it was wise to explain why I had chosen her and the boy while still in the presence of my present hosts. There that night certainly was not the time at any rate.

Anacaona was naked of course as was the custom of these people, and although it was not the custom of the men, I still wore my loincloth, feeling uncomfortable, not to mention vulnerable, going about stark naked. She pressed her body up against mine and rubbed her leg along the inside of my thigh as her fingertips caressed my chest with concentric circles, each circle becoming smaller and circling my left nipple. By the time she reached it, it was already swelling and as she brushed her fingertips over it, it quickly began to harden. So was my member. I have only had congress with the opposite sex once before and my mind flashed back to Bukhara five years ago. I had just turned fifteen and my first experience with the opposite sex had been with two harem girls, Mongols or Mongol-Turk half-breeds trained to bring sexual pleasure, Pasha who was also fifteen, and Ayisha, who was a year younger, both engaging me at the same time. As I thought back to that first and only experience with the opposite sex, my member began to swell even faster, pushing aside my loincloth in its eagerness. Anacaona noticed and commented on the fact that I was an eager warrior not just on the battlefield as I was already raising my macana, my war club. Pasha and Ayisha had made a similar comment, referring, I think, to my member as a short sword.

As I said that had been five years ago and much had happened to me since then, but that had been the only night that I ever had congress with the opposite sex. It had been pleasant, but not remarkable, and given the choice I have never chosen the fair sex since, feeling much more comfortable and more pleasure with those of my own gender. I had, of course, seen many couplings between male and female in this journey, these people having far less inhibition about congress in front of others than any peoples I have ever known. At this very moment Anacaona was openly caressing my body and arousing me in front of the boy Jutia. I nodded toward him and she looked at me curiously and observed somewhat uncertainly that her son had seen her and his father do what men and women do many times.

Such was the openness of these people and I was very much aware of that fact and had witnessed parents coupling before their children, and even men having congress with each other in front of their own sons. Still, two and a half months away from my twentieth birthday, an adult in his prime by the standards of these people, I stood there uncertain what to do as this woman, whom I discovered was just shy of nineteen, untied my loincloth and cupped my stones in front of her son, whom I learned later was probably two months shy of his sixth birthday. Not even the most wanton harlot in my homeland would do such a thing. She rolled my testicles in their loose sack gently as she kissed my chest and ran her tongue over my tender, hard teats, causing my member to extend and slowly rise.

As I embraced her and kissed her, I pressed my body against hers, my growing member pressed between our stomachs. I lowered her to the sleeping mat and caressed her as I snuggled down and kissed her right breast and took her nipple in my mouth and sucked and thought back to my congress with the two harem girls and tried to recall what I had done. Her nipple quickly stiffened and I licked it with my tongue, causing her to quiver with arousal. As she slipped her fingers about my now stiff member and slowly began to stroke it, I ran my hands down her soft, smooth body to her thighs, and ran my fingers through her coarse short hairs. Lust pushed aside my self-consciousness and my balls took over the thinking for my brain.

As I massaged her hairy cunt the fleshy lips quickly began to swell and to part and she reached around and caressed my buttocks with growing arousal. Soon her lower lips were firm and the crack between them moist. She parted her legs and I knelt between them, and as I began to thrust forward she squirmed into position so that the tip of my swollen cock met her now hot and swollen lips. I recalled long ago while traveling through the land of the Tocobago the Ais Trader telling me that special guests were allotted the older women, sometimes even the wife of the chief, for worthy guests deserved the best, and older women knew the art of lovemaking far better than their younger, prettier sisters. Now this newly widowed woman was guiding me in the way of sex between a man and a woman, in front of her five-year-old son.

I glanced over to where he had been standing and I found him sitting there in the shadows watching me intently as I penetrated his mother and began to fuck her. What must he be thinking seeing the man who had captured his mother now between her legs in place of his now dead father? The thought that he was watching me fucking his mother was erotic and obscene and in my depravity heightened my lust and I sank my member deep up her hot, moist cunt and began to pump my hips to and fro eagerly, driving my swollen cock in and out of her body. She wrapped her smooth thighs about my body and constricted and relaxed her cunt in time with my thrusts and withdrawals clearly enjoying having me inside her. Although I was very much aware of the wantonness of these Indians and that sex was a pleasure to their women, it was still a shock to my Christian values.

It was very different doing it with a woman and again although I found it stimulating I found no exceptional pleasure in the act. Of course my member responded, gradually growing numb and the rim of my bulb tingling with the familiar pleasure normally caused by my hand or that of another male, or by a young boy's anus. The physical stimulation I could not deny. Anacaona was breathing more heavily now and was gyrating as I pumped my cock in and out of her, obviously enjoying the physical stimulation also. Although pleasant, I found no desire to prolong the pleasure and I continued thrusting my hips to and fro until at last I felt the burning sensation of my seed racing up the core of my cock. As I began to spurt it into her body, she arched her back and cried out with her own pleasure and wrapped her arms about me tightly in what I concluded was her own orgasm. I remained in her until I was spent and then finally I slowly and carefully withdrew my member and lay down beside her.

We lay like that for some time, slowly recovering, and then she beckoned for Jutia to join us. As the boy lay between us, she took his hand and guided it over to my stones and the boy immediately began to roll them in their sack. I looked at her curiously and she smiled and said she had heard the others joking and knew that I had a fondness for boys. The perverted attitudes of these peoples, and especially of their women, will never cease to amaze me! What civilized, Christian mother would allow herself to be fucked in front of her son, and then offer her son to the man who had just taken her? Even the citizens of Gomorrah were not so wanton! The boy was obviously very much acquainted with the congress between males as he rolled my stones gently with one hand and began to stroke my now limp member, still sticky with his mother's cunt juice, with the other. When I reached around and caressed his smooth, compact buttocks and ran my pointer finger along his crack and fingered his little pucker he did not flinch, and when I pressed against his back door he readily opened it up to me.

Where he had obtained his experience at such a young age I did not know, but I was glad that I was not going to be the first one to penetrate him and have the embarrassment of having to tell him what to do in front of his mother, but at the same time, I felt a disappointment that I was not about to deflower this boy child in front of his mother. I was shocked by my disappointment, and by the level of depravity to which I had sunk. Wicked enough it was that I was about to fuck this little boy in the presence of the woman who had given him birth. The boy himself showed no guilt nor hesitation. As he stroked my rapidly growing member, I stoked his little tiddler and it quickly became swollen and firm.

I decided to take him face to face as I had taken his mother. I greased his anus with a bit of duck fat and I greased my finger and inserted it up his ass to lubricate his rectum. He inhaled as I penetrated him with my finger and looked up at me with some apprehension, but also with desire. My member was going to be much longer and thicker than my finger, a frightening thought, but a pleasant one also, especially for one so young. He watched intently as I greased up my member generously, and then I knelt between the boy's legs. I slowly pulled him up toward me, raising his hips, and I placed the tip of my member against his quivering anus. I pushed forward ever so slowly, my bulb slowly stretching open his anus and he grunted and strained to open as widely as he could until at last my bulb popped inside his body.

I continued to penetrate him, doing so ever so slowly, and then I began to fuck him there before his mother, my cock having penetrated her and now penetrating her son, baptized in her cunt slime and now baptized in his ass slime. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, finding fucking this young boy much more to my liking than his mother. He looked up at me with those dark, confident eyes of his, and from his labored breathing and the look in his eyes I knew that he was enjoying getting fucked and at the age of five that burning ring of his anus and feeling his rectum being stuffed by a thick cock was still a novel and mysterious experience. I had to wonder what it had to be like, being fucked in front of his mother, and being fucked by the same man as had fucked her.

As my cock slid in and out of his asshole I wondered if he was picturing in his mind that same cock sliding in and out of his mother's cunt. The thought added to my own lust and caused my loins to ache with desire. I reached down and stroked his little, hard prick, no longer nor thicker than my little finger, as I fucked him, causing both his prick head and his asshole to burn, bringing him pleasure both by fucking him and by jerking him off. I made no effort to prolong my own pleasure for his sake, figuring to do so was more likely to bring him pain than pleasure. When at last I spurted my seed up his rectum, he squirmed with the thick, hot enema and with the spasms of his little cocklet. Seeing the pleasure on his face and hearing his whimpers of pure delight added to my own pleasure and I knew what I had done had been right.

Anacaona I discovered was from the island of Bohio and had been captured by a warrior of the Kalinago at the age of ten. She had been made his slave until she had her first period at the age of twelve, at which time she was taken as his second wife, his first wife having borne him two children both of whom were weak and had died in infancy. Jutia was their first child. She had given birth to two others, a girl who had been still born, and a boy who had died due to evil spirits before his first birthday. Her husband was a great warrior and the son the war chief and had since then taken a third wife whom he hoped would bear him healthier children. She had no idea who had killed him in our raid, but she was not sorry he was dead.

So Jutia was very much aware of the congress between a man and a woman, having witnessed not just his father and his mother, but also his father and his other two wives. I learned the man had a voracious sexual appetite, and a rough manner with women, so the boy had been surprised at the tenderness between his mother and me. He was also very much aware of the congress between males having watched older boys pleasuring each other and the men of his tribe seeking satisfaction from captured young boys of their enemies whom they had made their concubines, and treating them just as roughly as his father had treated his mother. He himself had been roughly taken by an older boy shortly before I had captured him and his mother, and so he had also been pleasantly surprised by the tenderness with which I had my way with him. He was proud being a Taino, and he told me haughtily as only a five-year-old boy can that they lived on many islands and were feared by all people, and took many captives, and that when he grew up he would also.

The next morning, I, my slave-wife, and boy concubine, continued on with the good wishes of the headman of the tribe. I sailed along the coast until I was sure we were out of sight, and then lowered my sail and turned out toward the open sea. My initial plan, before I knew they were Taino, had been to return them to the Kalinago and to use their "rescue" as passage through the land of the Kalinago. That plan had changed of course, and my objective now was to skip from island to island until I reached Bohio where I could leave my new wife and concubine. I had mixed feelings about returning to the Taino. Although I had long ago accepted that I would never find my way back to my homeland, there had always been in the back of my mind a faint hope that if I continued exploring new territory I might eventually find the path that lead back to my family and kinsmen. Returning to the Taino meant returning to where this meaningless and arduous trek across this strange country had all begun. On the other hand, I had found the Taino a peaceful, kind people and though they were uncivilized and ignorant, there were far worse tribes that I could end up spending the rest of my life with.

As the sun began to sink on the fourth day at sea I sighted land, and as I approached I spotted a group of men, Kalinago I assumed, in the shallows with a net catching shrimp. I had the boy hail them in their tongue, and tell them I was a healer far from home and we had come in peace. A man, a woman, and a boy, we were no threat to them. They shared their catch of shrimp and that night the boy and I slept with the men and my wife with the women, as was their custom, and the next morning we headed back out to sea for the next island I could see along the horizon. This was a land of many islands, and I recalled the wonder with which I and my shipmates first viewed these patches of Paradise.

And so was that I passed through the islands occupied by the Kalinago. and I found little difference between them and the Kalina. They were great boatbuilders and fishermen, and also great warriors, and of course the story of a healer, whom they called a buyeis, who was also a warrior with a mighty sword that could cut a man in two preceded me, and at each village their strongest warrior challenged me to a wrestling match and at each village they were eager to have me lead them in war against their enemies, which included rival villages of their own people, sometimes on the very same island. That I had a Taino slave-wife and concubine boy added to my reputation and prestige among these people who valued individual championship above all else. Many of the men wore what they called a caracoli, a necklace of small bones along with the teeth of their defeated enemies from which a crescent-shaped ornament was suspended to represent courage. (3)

I tried my best to avoid joining these people in their battles. For one I certainly did not relish risking my life at every new village, especially to gain a few primitive weapons or to prove myself a great warrior, and there were only so many concubines, male or female, that I was about to provide for, though these were lofty goals for any self-respecting Kalinago. Besides, given that my enemy only had spears and stone hatchets while I had a sword and a steel dagger, it could hardly be considered a fair fight and even though it was to preserve my own life, I felt great remorse over those I had maimed or killed following each battle. Of course it was not always possible to avoid, especially given my reputation and the value these people placed on individual valor and battle skill.

Each time I traveled from one village to another or from one island to another island, I was questioned where I was from and why I had appeared among them. These people have a legend of spirits living in the sea who are of light-colored skin and appear from time to time to travel among mortals on land and I was often treated with both great awe, great fear, and great subservience as rumors spread that I was one of these spirits, a Palanakili. As we sat about the fire at night and tales were told, I began to hear more stories about a people of skin still lighter than mine, a fierce, godless people who killed for the joy of killing and who took many captives back to the sea with them. At first I thought these were more stories about the Palanakili until one speaker claimed that there were a great number of these people and that they took these captives away in huge canoa with many sails that could carry more men than they have a number for! From then on I paid much closer attention to such stories and asked the speaker questions about these people, and with each telling, I realized these people had to be talking about Spaniards! With each telling I tried to curtail my excitement and to determine where these people were seen, and the next day I headed in the direction they indicated despite their warnings that these were fierce, evil people to be avoided or to be attacked by many canoa of warriors and driven from these waters

There was another event that spurred me on to seek these white-skinned people. We arrived at a village the evening after the village had made a raid against the Arawak living on a nearby island. Two of the warriors were taken alive besides several women and children. These men suffered great ridicule and abuse upon returning to the Kalinago village where they were tied to stakes and pierced with spears and had their ears, noses and digits cut off to instill fear in them. The longer the night progressed the more the warriors danced and bragged and drank, and the more viscous they became until finally a fire was lit and to my horror, the two captives were roasted, alive, the Kalinago dancing about them in triumph as they screamed in agony and slicing off strips of their flesh and consuming it in the belief that these captives had been particularly brave and skilled warriors, and by consuming the flesh of these captives they themselves would become strong and brave. As I witnessed this savagery, I slowly recalled our first contact with the Taino and how gentle and frightened they had seemed, and how they had feared these ferocious warriors, Caniba or Caritaba, who attacked them and whom they had said ate the flesh of their captives. These Kalinago had to be these very Caritaba!

With that realization I recalled also living with the Ishak and their violent, fearsome character and their savage treatment of their captives. I had been a captive myself and at one point had feared that I would be their next meal. I had escaped from the Ishak by good fortune and the Grace of God, and now by the Will of God, I found myself once more living amongst bloodthirsty demons who ate the flesh of men! I was not a captive of the Kalinago, but I was not of them also, and knowing how fickle the Fates are and that my God is a Vengeful God, I knew I was truly pushing my luck thinking I might escape from a nation of cannibals a second time. We left before sunrise the next morning. (4)

Two weeks later I found myself unavoidably in another battle, having arrived at the village the night before the planned raid, and the arrival of the mighty, undefeatable Palanakili was seen as an omen of good fortune. How my reputation had spread from island to island across this vast Ocean Sea amazed me. Needless to say, my actions the next day confirmed and I suspect further ingrained my reputation, but it was either defend myself or die, and the latter was not in my plans. I was rewarded for my part in the war with my very own caracoli and one of the female captives, and when I declined the latter, explaining once again that I already had one slave-wife and could not afford a second, a tale I had told so often I was becoming quite convincing, I was offered a particularly effeminate, plump young man from the conquered tribe. My first impulse was to again decline for I wanted no human as spoils of war, particularly when I saw in the war chief's eyes a hunger for the boy. The boy had seen the desire in the war chief's eyes also, and seeing the fear in the boy's eyes I wondered if perhaps I was the lesser of the evils for this poor soul, and if perhaps it was the Will of God that he be mine. With another man, he could be tomorrow's supper. Perhaps this was my opportunity to save a mortal life, or even a heathen soul, a chance to be absolved of my past sins, or at least one of them in that I had many. The boy could be the first of a ministry of saved souls if I was intended to spend the remainder of my life with these heathen savages. Ironically according to my calculations it was February fourteen, the Feast of the Saint Valentines, the two martyred Roman Christians, a day that had become dedicated to lovers.

So I accepted both awards. As the boy meekly joined me, I considered perhaps doing nothing at all with the boy and instead making him a gift to the headman at the next island to ensure safe passage across his land, but I knew what everyone was expecting of me, even my wife and her son. I also knew if I did not have congress with the boy it would be an insult to the honor of the headman who had granted me the boy and outright avariciousness in the eyes of the war chief who had wanted him, and I could ill afford to make enemies of either of them. So as my wife retired with the women I, Jutia and the boy joined the men. There in the shadows I ordered the boy to remove the nagua he was wearing and which indicated to all what he was. To my surprise, he was more than what I expected, or perhaps I should say, he was less. As he stepped out of his skirt, I discovered that his testicles had been removed. He was, I learned, an Arawak, captured and castrated as a boy of eight and made the concubine of the headman of the tribe we had just attacked. I was horrified by such barbarism and took immediate pity on him.

I asked how his life had been and he said the headman had not been a cruel master, not as cruel as many others, which he knew personally as his master had shared him with other visiting headmen whom he wished to impress, the boy being one of his favored concubines. He said such was the will of the gods, and he professed it was not an unpleasant role, and dared to say he was as skilled in it as a warrior is skilled in battle or a hunter in hunting. He could see my pity and distaste, which I made no effort to hide, and asked quietly and with a quavering voice if his appearance displeased me, greatly afeared of what the consequences might be for there had to have been others who looked upon the castrated as I did. I immediately replied it did not, though in truth I had no desire to have congress with this poor soul. He reached out and took my hand, and drawing me to him, he tenderly kissed my cheek and began to caress my chest and for his sake I allowed him to continue.

The boy, now fifteen years of age, was skilled in his role as he had said, and between his caresses and kisses I found myself slowly becoming aroused. I believe it was old Three-finger Duarte who had once observed to me as an innocent, untried young boy that when a man's member rises he thinks with his stones, not his brains, and there is much truth in that. I began to return the boy's kisses and caresses, particularly when I saw how earnest he was in pleasing me. He was gentle, like a woman, and his body soft, also like a woman's, and I suppose that is one of the reasons he was castrated, to keep his features effeminate, but that was not what aroused me. What aroused me was the tenderness in his actions and his sincere desire to please, and that despite having no stones, he took pleasure in my kisses and caresses.

And so we both became aroused and he turned and dropped to his knees and elbows and I greased his anus and my stiff member and took him there in the shadows. I sank my stiff cock up his rectum just as I had been sinking my cock up my new wife's cunt and her son's ass nightly since they had become mine. I slowly began the rhythmic thrust and withdrawal of this sexual dance, grasping the boy's plump hips and slapping my stomach against his plump buttocks. The throbbing of my cock and the burning of the rim of my knob were a delight and I forgot all else, that there were men and boys on either side of me in this long house, that my new wife and her son were without my presence that night, and that my partner had no stones. I began to inhale and exhale deeply with my exertion and lust, as did he, and our bodies began to glisten with perspiration. I felt the sweat trickle down along my ribs and down the inner side of my thighs.

My member throbbed in time with the throbbing of the boy's rectum, the two of us becoming one, and I knew the pleasure my member was feeling was the same pleasure his anus was feeling. I reached under him and began to stroke his stiff member, sending sharp thrills through his swollen bulb as I pulled his hood down and pushed it back over the bulb. And then I began to spurt, filling his rectum with my seed, and I had to wonder what the boy was thinking, knowing that he would never be able to experience the same, and if never being able to know such pleasure, if he took pleasure in my own ejaculation as if it were his. When we were done and I eased my cock out of his ass, he turned and looked across at me and from the flush of his cheeks and the spark in his eyes I knew that he had found pleasure in our congress, and from the curl in his lips I knew he was pleased that I too had found pleasure in what we had done. It was, I observed to myself with a repressed grin, a most unusual way to mark the Feast of the Saint Valentines. In the same breath, I felt a love for this boy and sensed a love he held for me that was undeniable and gave me cause to wonder at the power of the Saints and to wonder if they had interceded on behalf of this ignorant savage this day.

As I lay back and listened to the deep breathing the boy I had just fucked, I thought about my new wife and her son and the strangeness of my life and of these peoples. These were a violent people who hung the skulls of their ancestors from the beams of their homes, used the arms and legs and the teeth of their enemies to adorn their homes and their bodies, tortured and ate their captives, and cut off the stones of young boys, and I longed to be back with my kinsmen and civilized, Christian folk. The image of Fabiao, my countryman who had become a castrati so that he might retain his voice and sing in the Vatican choir flashed in my mind. I had not thought of him in years and I wondered if God had raised his image in my mind to mock my naivety. The sweat-streaked, jowly face of Sali'a, the fat eunuch who guarded the harem of his Saracen master who slept secure with the knowledge the ball-less eunuch posed no threat to his female concubines replaced the image of Fabiao. Perhaps these barbarians were not the only ones who engaged in such cruelty, but they still made me uncomfortable. I arose on impulse, and slipping out the door, I headed to the women's shelter and called for my wife. We slipped into the surrounding jungle, and I did my husbandly duty before returning to the men's shelter and my castrati concubine. (5)

And so the next morning there were now four of us who set out for the next island. This teenage boy, Arasibo, was one more mouth to feed, but I could not leave him behind nor use him as a bribe at the next island, not knowing the savagery of these peoples and that in time his attractiveness and use would wear out and he would likely be abandoned and left to a life less than a slave or perhaps eaten, which of the two being the worse I was not sure. That night we arrived at an uninhabited island and we slept together on the beach. I did my husbandly duty with my wife, who lay on her back and gyrated and lurched with pleasure as I knelt between her legs and pumped my swollen cock in and out of her hot, moist cunt, the rhythmic pounding of the surf in my ears and the sour, primordial scent of the ocean sea in my nostrils. I did so out of duty, and out of guilt for having neglected her the night before. It was not an unpleasant duty, but it was out of duty. I did not derive any great pleasure out of it. I pumped her full of my seed, flooding her pulsating cunt and I wondered what that felt like for a woman.

Afterward she lay there beside me, satiated, as Arasibo and Jutia kissed and caressed my naked body, slick and salty with sweat. Their hands roamed over my chest and along the inside of my thighs, coaxing my cock to rise once again, and the prurient beast eagerly rose like a cobra responding to a magician's flute until it stood tall and defiant, the full moon casting its shadow across my glistening chest. I kissed the boys, Jutia's soft lips sweet as honey, Arasibo's brushing against mine with a teasing, feather-light touch. I caressed and kneaded his soft folds of flesh and his flabby breasts and I sucked on his teats, causing them to burn with irritation and arousal. I caressed Jutia's smooth, compact buttocks and took his little noodle in my mouth and sucked on it, delighting in the velvet smoothness of his cock and the musky fragrance of his little balls. His cocklet became firm and throbbed eagerly in my mouth and Arasibo's stiff cock, six finger widths in length, throbbed rigidly in my hand, proof of their pleasure, a pleasure that I as a male could identify with. My own member, two hand widths in length, ached with lust as Jutia's hot little hand squeezed and stroked it and Arasibo rolled my sweaty testicles in their rough sack.

The two boys knelt beside me as I lay there on my back, my wife at my side, and they licked and sucked my stiff cock, running their tongues from the base to the quivering opening at the tip, leaving behind trails of their spittle. They took turns slipping their lips about my bulb and sucking on my throbbing cock as I took theirs, one in each hand, and stroked their swollen tubes of flesh. I inhaled deeply, sucking in the fragrant air scented with ocean spray and seaweed and male sweat and my loins ached. Somewhere far off in the jungle a bird called to its mate and a night animal hunted. And like the birds and the animals, I and the two boys satisfied our carnal lust, one by one reaching our orgasm. When I came, lying there on my back, my cream shot up into the air and laced my heaving chest and stomach. Unable to produce seed themselves, the two boys delighted in my release, eagerly lapping up my streamers of slime.

And so we sailed from island to island, making use of the prevailing winds and the ocean currents and rowing when becalmed, slowly heading north and west in search of these white men from the sea. At times the islands were distant and we spent one or two nights in the canoa. When we did arrive on land, our first chore was to replenish our water and food supplies. It was not uncommon to see another canoa in the distance for these people are great sailors and fishermen and spend much of their lives on the water. Usually the other travelers were too distant to warrant approaching each other. If we were near a village as evening set, we stayed with the villagers overnight, us welcoming the company and information about the nearby islands, the villagers welcoming the diversion of entertaining strangers and hearing new stories. To have a great warrior with a fresh caracoli about his neck, and one who was also a buyeis who had the ear of the gods, was considered a great honor and a favorable omen. The days were uneventful, giving me time to think, and I had much to think about.

Constantly mindful that my very existence was at the whim of our Blessed Lord in Heaven and of my pledge to Him to spread His Word, I began to instruct my companions in the gospels and they were most interested in My God and accepting of His Ways and they had many questions of me. Having by large neglected even my daily duties to Him since my arrival in these lands, I made up for my laxity in prayer and oblation in my zeal to convert my three companions. They were quick to learn and soon were able to recite the Lord's Prayer and the Ten Commandments, though there was much they had difficulty comprehending.

Raised from birth to believe that the greatest gift and honor one man can give another was the service of his wife overnight, and that it brought unequaled pleasure to husband, wife, and guest, they could not fathom how it could be a sin to covet another man's wife. Surrounded by enemies who would kill you if you did not kill them first, the Commandment that thou shalt not kill was incomprehensible and foolish. For a people who saw spirits and gods dwelling in every nook and crevice, to claim to be the one and only god was the height of vanity. Accustomed to a life where those who had shared what they had with the less fortunate, from the hunt to the bed, they had no concept of theft and so no punishment for it. They could recite the gospels but to my dismay they had scant understanding of their precepts.

Their obvious intelligence but simplicity in thinking was a good example of their contrariety. They were a people of extremes, a people of great contradictions. On the one hand they were a gentle, kind people who showed more empathy and support for the young and the elderly than I have witnessed among my own countrymen, but when it came to their enemy, who could be the village a day's walk away, they savagely murdered and enslaved every man, woman and child regardless of age. They saw no sin in total nudity of either sex, but the men bound the tips of their foreskins for they thought it shameful to expose one's bulb.

A conversation I had long ago with the heathen Tamurid warrior Syed came to mind. I had asked him about the contradictions I had observed in Prince Abba, how on one hand he was courageous and skilled but at other times conniving and backstabbing, at times so vicious and cruel he appeared to act without thinking, and at other times you could not find a man more kind, gentle, and thoughtful. Syed had replied that was the nature of things, he had to be so for he was a Prince, and if he were not these things others would not follow him. I had a feeling that something along the same lines was true about these peoples, that the contradictions in their behaviour and their very being was a matter for their survival. If that was indeed so, then I wondered what others would say about me, for though I considered myself a gentle and compassionate soul, I had engaged in rape and murder and unspeakable sins. And I had survived living with the Saracens and Tamurids, and I had survived the arduous journey across these savage lands, all before the age of twenty.

There was another matter that bothered me more than anything else. One of the things that had surprised me the most about Prince Abba was that he could take to his bed concubines of either sex with obvious equal delight. How that could be I had also asked the Tamurid Syed, to which he had replied that it was simply because both brought the prince pleasure. It was an obvious answer but I was still no closer to understanding for I could not see how it was possible that the pleasures could be equal. I had only the experience with the two harem girls on which to base my opinion at the time, the opinion of a boy barely past his fifteenth birthday, but I remember concluding that while congress with the two harem girls had been stimulating enough and physically pleasant, I much preferred a tight ass to a sloppy, wet cunt, and the pleasure of bringing another male the same pleasure as he was bringing me and knowing how he was feeling was far superior to any pleasure a woman can bring a man.

Now I was six weeks shy of my twentieth birthday. Although I had numerous experiences with a host of other males, from infant to ancient, so many I was hard pressed to remember all their names, and actually there were many whose names I never knew, I only had one other experience with the fair sex, the eighteen-year-old Taino, Anacaona, and so my experiences were vastly unequal for comparison, but my opinion had not really changed. Perhaps I had been too severe regarding the harem girls who had taken my virginity, but I still found no comparison between the pleasures of the flesh with my new wife and the pleasure I felt while in congress with her five-year-old son.

So why did one man find only pleasure with the opposite sex, another find equal pleasure with both males and females, and a third prefer congress with his own gender? According to my kinsmen and my God a man should prefer only women, though I knew from personal experience that belief was not universal and outrightly rejected by some highly placed Christians. According to many Saracens I have met they believed a man should be free to enjoy both, and some even led me to believe such was the command of Allah. The people I am currently living with also accept both, though as a rule, congress between male and female is more favoured. So, which should it be, and why should it be that way? I had much time to ponder the question, but as I lay awake at night, my loins sticky from congress with my wife, her child, and my castrati slave, I had no answer.

Chapter 26
Home Again

The conclusion of Book Two.  Nico at last rejoins his family at Viano do Costelo and then continues on to his estate at Valença do Minho where he finds his estate has prospered in his absence and he settles down as the Lord of the Quintas de Ribeiro. 

Codes: MF, Me, tt, Mb, Mt 

Characters: Nico, Anacaona, Jutia, Arasibo, Vasco de Azurara 18, 10 yo Marcilio 

The following day I caught passage with a local trader who made regular runs along the coast of Portugal and three days later, on the morning of the twenty-fifth of June in the year of our Lord one thousand four hundred and ninety-six, three years and eleven months after I had left, I stepped back onto the familiar docks. The last time I had returned home I had come with trunks of treasure, titles, rich clothes and a new estate. This time I returned in much plainer clothes and with half a dozen ragged sacks, a pregnant wife, a six-year-old stepson, and a fifteen-year-old concubine slave.

Old Sebastião was there with his donkey and cart as usual, but there were others there more in need of his services though I would have enjoyed talking to him. Anyway, by the time I had disembarked he had already been hired. The usual collection of boys were there too, hoping to earn a few coins or just out of curiosity, but of a generation younger than those I used to run with and none that I recognized. So we picked up our belongings and headed up the street to Father's shop. It was a Thursday and already hot for we were approaching the two hottest months of the year, though compared to the heat and humidity I had become accustomed to it felt a mild day. Several people were gathered in front of Father's shop talking, several entering and others leaving. Business must be good. This time the chair leaning up against the building by the door was empty. Tears immediately blurred my vision as the image of Uncle Paolo and why it was empty came to my mind.

"What is wrong?" asked Anacaona.

"Nothing," I replied huskily. "A bit of dust in my eye."

I entered the shop. It had not changed. The shelves and cabinets were filled with trade goods, everything in its place and neatly arranged as it always was, a testament to Father's orderliness and attention to detail. Father was behind the counter finishing off with a customer. He looked older. Our eyes met and he stared at me for a moment, uncertain. With my hair down to the middle of my back, the tattooed circles under my eyes, and my sun-darkened skin, I am sure the twenty-year-old man standing before him was very different from the sixteen-year-old boy he had last seen. Even so, he recognized me, and his face turned from surprise to joy as he stepped forward.

"João, those crates of muslin from Al Mawşil have finally arrived," came a voice from behind me. I spun around in disbelief. I knew that voice!

"I thought you dead!" we both exclaimed.

"Me? Dead? Now why would you think that?" Uncle Paolo asked.

He dropped the crate he was carrying and we embraced, and then Father was there with his arms around both of us and we kissed each other on the cheeks and slapped each other on the back and we were all crying.

"By Saint Christopher, what has happened to you?" asked Uncle Paolo, grabbing me by the shoulders and taking a good look at me. "And who have you brought with you?" he asked, looking at Anacaona, Jutia, and Arasibo. I introduced them by name and they nodded uncertainly and with apprehension.

"Gonçalo, you are in charge of the store," Father said to the man who had come in with Uncle Paolo. "My son has returned! Paolo and I are off to home!"

And so we walked up the street to home where once again there was rejoicing and crying as I was reunited with Mother, two of my sisters, and my brother, now four years of age, and a message was dispatched to my older sister.

"And this is Anacaona, my wife," I said self-consciously. "And this is her son Jutia, and this is Arasibo."

Again, they all nodded their heads respectfully and apprehensively. I had fretted how my family would react to the news of my marriage, but I should have known better. Mother, Father and Uncle Paolo embraced and welcomed each of my native family as warmly as if they were long lost relatives and without the slightest indication they even noticed they were not white. There was of course much explaining to do as I sat down and began to relate my adventures and to answer their many questions. Obviously I did not mention many of the details, like the sacrifices I had seen and the battles I had engaged in or the men I had killed, the many intimate relationships I had with boys and men, nor how I had come to acquire a wife and a stepson, nor just what Arasibo's relationship was to me. Mother was appalled by my ear piercings and tattoos, and I was compelled to remove my shirt and pull down my hose to show her the extent of my markings least she discover them by accident. I am sure if she ever learned of the drugs I had taken and the carnal sins I had engaged in she would have fainted away with shock.

Uncle Paolo comforted her and told her there were things a man had to do to survive when living among people of a different culture, to which she retorted if that were so then it was because the Good Lord never intended for men to travel to such places. It was a familiar argument between brother and sister each time Father and Uncle Paolo went on a trading expedition, and we all knew neither was going to convince the other, and that the argument was because of their deep love and concern for each other. At least, thankfully, it turned her attention away from me. My elder sister arrived with her husband and their now two children, and we all talked long into the night until with her usual don't-ask-questions authority Mother assigned us to our rooms, my sisters sleeping together so Anacaona and I could use my sister Juanita's room, and my younger brother sleeping with Uncle so Jutia and Arasibo could take his room and be together.

The next day I joined Father and Uncle at the store and when not helping serving on customers or sorting and stocking the shipment from Al Mawşil that Uncle had been picking up when I had arrived, I answered the many questions they asked about my journey, about some of the things I had seen and done that are best discussed only by men, and particularly about the people who lived there and the opportunities for trade. I knew that Anacaona and the two boys would be put to work at home and that Mother would be peppering Anacaona with questions about how we had met and knowing the openness and simplicity of the Indian women when it came to matters of marriage and congress with the opposite sex, I worried what she might say and I wished I was home so I could intervene but it was too late and I cursed myself for not thinking what would happen. I fretted all day. Whatever she had been told and how she felt, Mother gave no indication when we returned home that evening, which did not put my mind at ease.

So we spent the day after, with more people dropping by the store and by the house to see for themselves that I had returned. At least half of my boyhood friends had married and they dropped by with their spouses and in some cases children, and it felt strange to think of them as married and to be introducing my own family to them. I had been seen and treated as a man throughout my travels these past four years, but I never truly felt like a man until I arrived back home.

My Indies family, as I had taken to calling them, took it all very well I thought though it had to be difficult for them being faced with such a different life in so many ways. Many had been the time that I had cursed the slowness of our voyage across the Ocean Sea, but I was glad now that it had given me time to acquaint the three of them with the basics of my language, which they were eager to learn and which I knew would help considerably, and to explain some of the more different customs they would encounter. The next day, Sunday, we all attended church, and Father Francisco made a special reference to my return and gave special thanks to God for my survival.

When Colombo had returned home from his first voyage, he had the Secretary of the Fleet send word to the families of all of his crew who had died on the voyage, and in the letter to my family he had written that during an escape by a group of captives I had bravely attempted to stop them and had been taken with them and had drowned, and he had much praise for my character, hoping, I suspect, to soften the blow of the news of my death. So worried was I about how my Indies family might behave in church, having never attended a church service and not even having temples themselves, I honestly do not remember the sermon, but then that was not unusual as my mind was used to wandering when Father Francisco began one of his lengthy tirades against Satan and the many sins that tempted man.

After services even more people crowded around, word of real Indians being present in Viana do Costelo having spread through the entire town and countryside and everyone eager to meet the savages. I knew that was in the back of the minds of some and I found myself biting my tongue so as not to cause trouble in front of Mother and Father. Returning home, I took my Indies family aside and asked how they were doing and they replied that they found the temple where we prayed most impressive for though they had heard other peoples in their homeland had temples the Taino, Arawak and the Carib themselves had none, but they confided that they had found the priest and the service most boring and much of it they could not understand. They also expressed great confusion over the way things were done as everything was so different for here the women and children did not spend the day collecting berries and roots and the men did not spend the day hunting or fishing, and I tried my best to explain, remembering my own confusion concerning the ways of the natives I had encountered, ways that I eventually not only understood but had come to take for granted. They were also concerned that I had once again ceased to have congress with them, especially the boys, and I assured them again that there was nothing wrong and that it was just the way things had to be at the moment. I must admit that I too was beginning to feel anxious not being able to seek my pleasure with them.

It was great to be back home, but uncomfortable also, not just for me and my new family, but for my old family also, and so that night I made my decision and the next morning I sent a boy with a message to my estate to say I was alive and would be returning midweek. Although my family all insisted it was not a discomfort and urged me to stay longer, I said I disliked putting them out of their beds, and besides, I was eager to see my estate, which was true. Upon hearing of my death, Father had ridden to the estate and had told my Steward it was his wish for him and his family to continue caring for my estate as I had instructed, and he or Uncle had ridden out periodically to check that they were doing so and so I was relieved that no ill had befallen my Steward, nor my estate with the news of my death. As one year passed into the next, they kept putting off making any changes in the arrangements I had left, for as Uncle Paolo explained to me one evening, to do so would be to admit my death, and neither he nor Father nor my mother were prepared to do that quite yet.

The evening of the very same day I had sent him, the boy returned, bringing with him four horses from my estate, two mares and two stallions, all fine-looking Lusitano, three bay and one chestnut. Two days later we headed out at dawn with promises to return and to visit often. My new family was quite frightened by this strange new mode of travel, and I recalled my own fears and awkwardness my first time on a horse. So, having had only one day to practice, we went slowly, arriving at the estate in late afternoon without any serious mishap.

Again having been thought dead, it was a most joyous reunion with much embracing and laughter. We again went through the awkwardness of introductions as I introduced my Indies family to those whom I had left to run the estate, the de Azurara family. They had changed greatly after four years except perhaps for my Steward, Alvaro, who was now seventy-seven but looked the same as the day I had left him. Alvaro's oldest grandson was now twenty-two and married and his wife expecting their first child any day, his second grandson was now twenty and a young man, his youngest, Vasco, was now eighteen and very much grown from the fourteen-year-old I had left. Alvaro's wife had prepared a great feast, having slaughtered one of our pigs for the occasion and the rest of the meal coming from our own gardens, accompanied by a fine white wine from our own winery. We stuffed ourselves and again I was pressed to relate my adventures well into the night.

The next day I was proudly given a tour of the estate, and I was most impressed. The estate had done very well in my absence, and as I had instructed, the revenue from each year had been reinvested into the operations. Our fishing venture was a huge success with the local fishermen fully a part of our operation instead of competing with us, and I spent the morning talking to them and being proudly shown our own smokehouse and drying factory that were now supplying fish as far away as Caminha to the west and Melgaco to the east. The little village of Valença do Minho had almost tripled in size since I had left, largely because of our enterprise, sons and daughters now staying in the area as there was a livelihood to be had. A number of tradesmen had also moved into the old, abandoned fortress and set up shops, carpenters, coopers, tanners and blacksmiths, all who had a regular business with us. I spent most of the afternoon meeting with them, all eager to meet the returning Lord, and anxious to find out what the future held for them.

Alvaro and his second grandson were just as proud of our still small but productive vineyard, and I told them once again that I have never tasted a wine so delicious as the one served the previous night, and I was told its reputation was rapidly growing. I spent the next morning with them inspecting the vineyard and our small winery and listening to their ambitious plans for expansion. Our market garden and our livestock had tripled in size also, our produce being sold at the local fair at the end of each month and now requiring the help of four local lads under the watchful eye of Alvaro's middle grandson, Bartolommeo. Vasco was equally proud of our Lusitano stock, our five mares having produced fouls each year so that we now had 20 colts from recently born to three years of age. He was particularly pleased with the news that we had received adjacent land to the east and south of the estate as it would give us extra pasturage and allow us to expand the venture even further. I had been surprised to have received the land myself, but now learning of the prosperity of my estate and its contribution to the royal treasury in taxes, I suspected that was the larger reason for the award, and a large factor in my having been received by the King Manuel at all.

That evening we had Alvaro and his family join us for supper, something I had thought about since my arrival and that was to become a weekly routine. In my travels I had noticed particularly that if one family experienced a surplus of food they shared it with other families, and how those families had become closer and helped each other in their need. Alvaro and his family were neither servants nor slaves who would never be permitted to mingle with their betters, but they were not family either and had their own place on this earth. Remembering my very first night with them and the friendship I had been given and had felt, I conceived the plan that we would meet once a week where we could discuss on an informal basis the operation of the estate, much as a family discusses the day's events at the evening meal. I knew my neighbours would frown upon the practice and I would be criticized for not maintaining the class order, but it was my estate, and I was determined it was the right thing to do.

It was at one of those meals that I announced a new venture I had in mind, to develop a herb and medicine garden from the seeds I had collected. Alvaro was surprised and observed that none of them knew anything about such things. At that point my wife proudly informed everyone that her husband was a great Healer-Shaman and knew much about that sort of thing, and that she and Arasibo could be of help. Nobody questioned her claim nor her offer and so it was agreed and the very next day soil for the new garden was being turned over and prepared.

Also that evening I sat down and talked to my Indies family about the new life they were about to embark on. They were all much overwhelmed. They had no concept of a man owning property for their people owned no land. It belonged to everyone and we were allowed use of it only at the blessing of the spirits who dwelled within. So for me to actually own land, I had to be a god or a demigod, as they had suspected me of being all along. They were amazed by the huge house that I owned, for again in most cases the village built the one common lodge and everyone lived in it. That there were separate rooms for eating, for sleeping, for cooking the food, for meeting with neighbours, or for relaxing in the evenings and were otherwise unused was of great perplexity, and to them, great extravagance. They were also impressed that I had so many slaves working for me for they had no concept of servants nor workers nor payment of wages. Both Anacaona and Arasibo were eager to look after my latest initiative for they had no purpose in this new life, and everyone in a family and in a tribe had some useful role to play, even the most elderly and the most invalid.

For the first time since our arrival at the estate, Anacaona and I did not take advantage of having our own bedroom and have congress that night. Now four and a half months pregnant, she did not expect congress since for her while the act was pleasant the major purpose was to create a child and we had done that. Besides, I was a great Healer and Shaman, and the most powerful and the best in her society had a preference for males, and especially young boys. To her, my preference was perfectly natural. I rose early the next morning for I had arranged for Vasco and me to check on the horses where they were pasturing and to then tour the addition to the estate. I was looking forward to it as it would be an opportunity to talk to him in private, though I was also anxious as I was uncertain how I was going to approach the topic of our earlier congress, and my relationship now with Jutia and Arasibo. To my disappointment I discovered he had arranged for us to be joined by his ten-year-old cousin Marcilio, whom he had taken on as an apprentice. The boy had a great love of horses and with our increase in stock was needed to help train them to be show horses. Obviously when Jutia and Arasibo asked if they could come along also, I could hardly say no and I shelved my plans to talk to Vasco for another day but I warned them all to be prepared to work for we would use the day to erect new guideposts to mark the new boundaries of the estate.

I was dour as we headed out, but we had a heavy rain the night before and the morning was bright and sunny and the air sharp and fresh, a beautiful summer day, and one could not remain dour for long. The sight of my herd of beautiful Lusitano, now twenty-seven head, grazing in the upper meadows with a dozen colts and yearlings playfully chasing each other and leaping through the air lifted my spirits still higher. The land I had been given was from a smaller, poorer estate vacant the past dozen years due to a rift between the former landowner and the monarchy, the same reason my own estate had been vacant. It was hilly and arid with scattered copses of wild, rugged, unattended olive trees and a scattering of natural springs, a dipper-shaped piece of land between my estate and the next occupied estate to the east, not of great value but quite suitable for pasture land. Allowing our horses to graze, we began dismantling the stone markers indicating the old eastern border of my estate and reinforced those along the new eastern border of my new property the rest of the morning and well into the latter part of the afternoon. Finally taking a break from the heat, Vasco and I lay down in the shade of one of the large olive trees while the boys fetched water from a nearby spring.

"You know, th–," we both began. We motioned for the other to speak, and we both spoke together again. We laughed, and this time Vasco pinched his lips closed and motioned for me to speak.

"I was going to say that this place reminds me of our first meeting."

Vasco smiled. "I was about to say the same thing. You know, tomorrow will be exactly four years since the afternoon we met."

"An afternoon I'll never forget," I replied. Four years. He had only recently turned fourteen. Now he had just recently had his eighteenth birthday. We sat there recalling that afternoon I'd found him sitting in the shade of a tree on a hot summer day just like this, taking a break in his hunting of game hens and stroking his member. We both began to speak again. This time I pinched my lips shut and motioned for him to speak first.

"There is something you should know about Marcilio and me," he said, glancing over at the three boys. "I … I have introduced him to the pleasures that you introduced to me. We . . . we've been pleasuring each other for almost three years."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"You are? You're not angry I have someone else?" I shook my head. "Or someone so young?"

"Of course not," I replied. "You love him?"

"Yes. Very much."

"There is also something you should know about Arasibo," I continued, "several things." The three boys were returning with water.

"The two of you?" Vasco asked, having no more time to talk in private, and I nodded.

"The water is cold," Arasibo said excitedly as he and Marcilio joined us. "I have never tasted anything so cold or so delicious."

"It is," agreed Marcilio, handing Vasco's flask to him as Arasibo handed me mine. We both took long draughts, parched from our hard work and the heat of the day. "And what were the two of you talking about so seriously?"

Vasco and I glanced at each other and I gave a slight nod. "You two," he said.

"Us?" the two boys asked.

"And that the first time we met, Master Ribeiro caught me in a place much like this varnishing my cane."

"Master Ribeiro?" Marcilio asked with a surprised snort, breaking into a huge grin.

"I did," I replied. "And between us, where there are no others to hear, just call me Nico. There is no need for formality between us."

"I do not understand. He caught you doing what?" asked Arasibo, glancing at each of us in turn.

"Varnishing his cane," replied Marcilio with a chuckle. "You know," he said, reaching down in front of his crotch and forming a circle with his fingers and thumb as he pumped his fist.

"Oh," Arasibo said as he realized what we were talking about from the universal gesture. He thought for a moment, his brow knitting in concentration. "How do you say?" he asked, stating a word in the Taino language and then the Arawak which I was unfamiliar with. He grasped his throat and gasped for breath.

"Choking," I said uncertainly.

"Choking the snake," he said, making the same gesture as Marcilio had. We glanced at each other and the five of us burst out laughing. It was a very appropriate description.

"Mast–Nico was the first to introduce me to the ways two boys can bring pleasure to each other," Vasco said.

"And Cousin Vasco was the first to introduce me to such pleasures," Marcilio admitted, looking at his cousin with evident gratitude.

"My first time was when I was fourteen, with a little black boy, six years old, in the jungles of the Kongo. He showed me the many ways one boy can bring pleasure to another."

Marcilio and Vasco looked at Arasibo. Before I could speak, he said, "First I bringed pleasure to a man in my eighth summer." He looked at me. "But it was not until it was Baracutey that anyone bringed pleasure to me."

"That was the name I was given in my travels on the other side of the Ocean Sea," I explained. "It means One Who Travels Alone." I glanced up at Arasibo and he nodded, knowing I was asking his permission to explain our relationship further. "Arasibo was captured by an enemy tribe who castrated him and forced him to satisfy the lusts of the men of the enemy tribe." Vasco and Marcilio could not hide their reaction, their eyes widening with surprise, and with horror at that news and they glanced at the ground in embarrassment. "When I and the tribe I was with made war with the tribe who had captured him and won, he became mine as the spoils of war."

"So . . . Arasibo is your slave?" Marcilio asked uncertainly as he looked up at me.

"Back where we came from he would have been considered so," I replied. "But here he is a free man." He was also my concubine, in our former life and in this one, but I was not sure how to explain that nor how that would be received by the two boys and chose to leave it at that.

"My first time was with a boy from the Kalinago, the tribe of eater of men," Jutia said, looking at me. "He forced me and it was not pleasure. But now I do it with the great warrior Baracutey, the new husband of my mother, the killer of many Kalinago, those men eaters, those offspring of a putrid snake." He bowed his head and lowered his eyes in respect. "And it is much pleasure with my new father," he finished, looking back up at me with such admiration and pride I felt embarrassed.

"Killer of men eaters? Offspring of putrid snakes? Now that sounds like a tale," Vasco said.

"Too unpleasant for a beautiful afternoon like this," I replied. "Another time. I can think of much more enjoyable ways to wile away our time right now."

"And so can I," Vasco said with a grin, reaching over and cupping my crotch.

"All right!" agreed Marcilio, dropping to his knees and groping Vasco. "I wondered if we would ever do anything!"

Arasibo and Jutia quickly joined in. Five prurient boys on a beautiful summer afternoon, beside a secluded spring and in the shade of an ancient olive tree, our thoughts turned to only one thing. It was a free-for-all, groping whatever groins were available, and with the feel of hardening flesh under those breeches we became even bolder and more desperate, untying ties and unbuckling belts, massaging and caressing exposed flesh and exposing more. Tunics and breeches and stockings and underpants were chucked and we embraced and kissed and caressed, running fingertips over smooth chests and slipping middle fingers along ass crevices, caressing smooth, hairless pubes and running fingers through short, curly hairs, stroking swelling members and cupping and rolling sweating stones. Nobody commented on Arasibo's lack and his lack did not appear to bother him.

There was no purposeful selection in our coupling. We caressed and nibbled whatever body and whatever body part was before us, at times caressing one person and nibbling another at the same time while several hands of several others fondled us, one fingering one's asshole, another cupping one's stones, and a third stroking one's member and a fourth nibbling on a hard, burning nipple. Arasibo was the darkest of the five of us, a dark reddish-brown, and his fingers were in sharp contrast with our stomachs and buttocks where the sun did not shine. Jutia's skin was more of a brownish copper, a beautiful colour in my eyes, and the same shade from head to toe having spent most of his life naked. Vasco and Marcilio, spending much time in the summer sun and stripped to the waist, were a swarthy olive-brown, lighter of course from the waist down. My skin was much darker than theirs from the hot, unrelenting sun of the land across the great Ocean Sea, and having spent much of that time with nothing but a narrow loincloth, my body was the same shade from head to toe, but not as dark as the skin of Arasibo or my stepson.

Turning around and lying on their sides facing each other in opposite directions, Vasco, now eighteen, and his cousin Marcilio Degrazia, ten, slipped their mouths over each other's swollen cock and began to suck, something they had done hundreds of times together but now for the first time in the presence of others. Snuggling up behind Vasco, I slicked up his asshole and my swollen member with my spittle and placing the tip against his hole, I slowly pushed forward, my cock at two hands length being the longest and thickest of the five of us. Ever so slowly I felt his anal muscle open until my bulb popped inside and I slowly sank my cock up his asshole until my hairs were pressed against his buttocks and the tip of my member was buried deep up his rectum and I thought back to when we had first met, when he had been fourteen and me sixteen, and the many times we had enjoyed this pleasure. As Arasibo assumed the same position behind Marcilio as I had behind Vasco, his cock as stiff and aching as badly as only a fifteen-year-old's can, my six-year-old stepson laid down beside me and I raised my head and took his stiff little cocklet in my mouth.

Grasping Vasco's smooth hips, I began to work my swollen member in and out of his hot, moist asshole and I sighed in delight with the sharp, burning pleasure encircling the rim of my bulb and the delightful throbbing of my swollen flesh stuffed up his asshole. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the physical pleasures that only a man can know, the pleasures of a cock and of fucking another man up the ass, and I sucked deeply on the thumb-sized cocklet of my six-year-old stepson, his little cocklet throbbing and itching with the same pleasure as mine as Vasco's anal muscle gripped my member and relaxed in time with my thrusts and withdrawals, his anus burning with the same pleasure as my cockhead and the bulb of my stepson.

At the same time Vasco sucked deeply on Marcilio's cocklet and slipped his lips up and down the stiff shaft as the ten-year-old boy did the same, sucking on Vasco's long, thick, throbbing cock with as much eagerness and delight and deeply inhaling the musk of the eighteen-year-old's balls. He closed his eyes in delight as behind him my concubine, the Arawak castrati Arasibo, pumped his swollen cock in and out of his ass, driven by teenage lust and carnal pleasure despite having had his stones removed, feeling the same pleasure as the rest of us. Jutia, at six summers the youngest of the five of us, inhaled and exhaled deeply as I sucked on his cocklet and his hot, little hands grasped my shoulders for balance as his hot blood pulsated through his swollen little member.

And so we satisfied our lusts and those of each other, our thoughts on the throbbing pleasure between our legs and on doing our best to bring pleasure to our partner, and on the pleasure we knew the others about us were feeling. Six or twenty years of age, fifteen, eighteen, or ten, the pleasure and the pain of a swollen, aching cock and a burning cockhead and a throbbing, stinging asshole are the same no matter what the age and united the five of us. Thumb size or two hands long, hooded or unhooded, the burning rim and the throbbing stem of that male member are the same for all of us, Portuguese, Taino or Arawak, and knowing what we were feeling was the same as what everyone else was feeling heightened our pleasure and brought us together as one. We gasped with our lust and exertion as we felt ourselves approaching that ultimate peak of pleasure. The need to reach that peak was too great to delay as we would have otherwise and we grunted like animals in rut, perspiration trickling down our ribs and beading on our foreheads and smooth backs despite the shade of the ancient olive tree, and the musk of five rutting bodies added to our desire as we sucked it into our lungs along with the fragrance of the old olive and lush grass.

Feeling at last the twang deep in my groin, I grasped Vasco's hips and thrust forward and my hot, thick seed spurted up the eighteen-year-old's rectum. It had been four years since I last filled his asshole with my seed and it was delightful. He erupted also, his balls drawing up tight beneath his long, throbbing cock as he spurted his seed into the mouth and down the throat of his ten-year-old cousin and the boy eagerly swallowed his cousin's slime as he too quivered and bucked with his own climax, too young yet to produce seed but not too young to enjoy the pleasure of orgasm. Behind him my dark-skinned, teenage Arawak concubine quivered also with his dry orgasm, the castrati having never had the opportunity to know the pleasure of producing seed, and my young six-year-old Taino stepson grasped my shoulders tightly as his mind spun dizzily with his own dry orgasm ripping through his tender little cocklet, at his age still a delightful mystery and novelty. The musky scent of spilt seed formed a blanket about us and the five of us sucked it in eagerly and we closed our eyes in bliss and contentment with the familiar fragrance. We laid like that for a long time and finally we disentangled and lay on our backs in the shade, Vasco and myself with the taste of cock in our mouths, Marcilio with the taste of cock and fresh semen, Vasco with a thick load of semen up his ass, and all five of us dripping with sweat and flushed with the delight of our orgasms.

We laid there in bliss, cheeks flushed and balls drawn up tight, thinking of the pleasure received and the pleasure given. It is that sharing of pleasure, a pleasure each of us knows by being male, that makes congress with others of our gender so powerful. I finally stood and stretched and inhaled deeply, the air fresh and with a faint hint of olive, and I glanced about the lush meadow and surrounding hills and forest, at my estate. Vasco got to his feet and picking up his flask took a long, deep drink and joined me and glanced about also in contentment and appreciation. We looked at each other and smiled and kissed and our lips still locked together we began to caress each other's naked body. It had been four long years since we had made love to each other.

Now eighteen and twenty, our bodies were firmer and more muscular with age and four years of strenuous physical activity, much more so than when we were fourteen and sixteen. My cheeks, lips and chest were still smooth, the Ribeiro's not being particularly hirsute, and the corners of Vasco's upper lip now sported the fine, silky wisps of a moustache making him even more attractive. His waist was narrow and his buttocks compact and standing there beneath the olive tree he reminded me of a Greek god or one of the marble statues of beautiful young men I had seen in Venice. We embraced and kissed and Vasco slowly slid to his knees, kissing and nibbling my chest and my stomach on the way down, and soaking his discarded undershorts with water from his flask, he took my limp cock in his hand and wiped it clean, the cold water invigorating and refreshing.

Joining us, Marcilio slipped his arms about me and caressed my chest, his fingers teasing my teats which quickly became hard and began to burn. Ten years old, he had to stretch and stand on his toes to lick them and his hot, moist tongue sent shards of pleasure through the swollen, irritated flesh. Arasibo meanwhile crawled over and kneeling there on his hands and knees he began to lick Vasco's inner thigh and his balls and Vasco reached down and began to fiddle with the castrati's cock. They were joined by Jutia who wrapped his arms about Arasibo and began to caress him, his dark chest, his firm buttocks, the inside of his thighs, the six-year-old boy knowing the pleasure his fingers can bring another boy and eager to please.

Slowly we once again became aroused and slowly our limp members began to rise in the air. We were young and healthy and prurient and unashamed of our lust. Vasco licked my growing member, causing it to swell faster, and he slipped his lips about the bulb and sucked gently on it. Marcilio slipped around behind me and slicking his swollen cock with his spittle, he placed the tip against my anus. The ten-year-old boy's stiff cock, a hand's width long, was slender and rock hard and his bulb easily wedged open my anal muscle and popped inside my rectum. Arasibo, still on his hands and knees, slipped his lips about Vasco's cock and he closed his eyes with delight as he felt it swelling between his lips. His own member was stiff and was being stroked by Vasco and he squirmed with the pleasure all boys know whether it be from their own hand or another's. Jutia meanwhile knelt behind the fifteen-year-old castrati and grasping his buttocks penetrated him with his little cocklet.

So once again we had congress beneath the gnarled olive tree. Marcilio's slender cock pumped in and out of my ass and though only four finger widths long it caused my anal muscle to burn with pleasure, and the thought of being fucked by this prurient ten-year-old child half my age caused my own member to throb with desire. There being no doubt about the pleasure the boy was feeling, I could not see how there could be any argument that a ten-year-old boy should be denied the pleasure of fucking. Vasco was eagerly sucking on my cock now, and working his lips and up down the shaft as far as he could manage considering its length and thickness, and he panted and gasped as he bobbed his head and swallowed his cock-flavoured saliva. His own dark sausage, only slightly shorter and thinner than mine, was being just as eagerly sucked and relished by my concubine Arasibo, whose own swollen member was now being stroked by Jutia. Sweat was trickling down the cheeks and along the folds of the plump body of the castrati as he knelt there on his hands and knees and eagerly sucked the cock of eighteen-year-old Vasco like a calf sucking on its mother's udder while my stepson thrust his little cocklet in and out of Arasibo's black ass and stroked the castrati's stiff cock, the six-year-old's breath coming in short gasps and his eyes half closed with obscene pleasure.

Once again the meadow was filled by the grunts and gasps of five prurient boys in rut, their naked bodies streaked with sweat under the hot summer sun, their cocks aching and itching, and four sets of balls drawing up tight beneath the stem of their swollen cocks. Again we closed our eyes and delighted in the throbbing of our blood-engorged cocks and the delight of bringing another boy pleasure. I arched my back as Vasco sucked deeply on my stiff cock, the knob burning with that painful pleasure and the shaft throbbing as my hot blood pulsated through it, and I inhaled deeply as I felt his ten-year-old cousin's little cocklet pumping in and out of my rectum. Vasco was rapidly approaching his own orgasm as Arasibo sucked eagerly on the eighteen-year-old's thick cock, and the castrati was approaching his orgasm as my stepson rapidly stroked his stiff member while he desperately fucked the teenage boy's ass.

Once again we reached our blissful orgasms. I filled Vasco's mouth with my thick, rich seed as he filled the mouth of my fifteen-year-old Arawak castrati concubine and the two boys eagerly gulped down that musky, thick slime. Once again the olive-scented air was filled with the fragrance of spilt seed and the five of us sucked it in eagerly. Marcilio trembled with his dry orgasm and the ten-year-old grasped me tight as his little cocklet throbbed with pleasure up my asshole. Arasibo arched his back as his member throbbed in Jutia's fist and my six-year-old Taino stepson gasped and grunted with his orgasm, his little cocklet shoved up my trembling concubine's ass. We gasped and panted and sighed with pleasure, glad to be male, unashamed of our lust for male flesh. We said little as later we dressed and rode back to the estate, but we each knew that this was only the first of many sessions together to come.

The next day was Sunday and we went to services at the Church of Saint Mary of Angels, a small church built in the twelfth century. The priest, Father Antonio, was a young man, enthusiastic in his preaching and actually quite interesting for a priest. I wondered what he would think if he had known what the five of us had done the day before. Myself, I prayed to God thanking Him for my survival and the many blessings of family, both those at Viano do Costelo and mine at Valença do Minho, and the de Azurara family who served me. I thanked Saint Christopher for my safe return home after so many years of despair and horror and fear, and I prayed to São Teotónio, Portugal's first saint and the village patron saint, having been born at Ganfel near Valença, and asked for continued good fortune. I was truly thankful to be home and for all my blessings, and I must confess, I was not that worried about the sins of the flesh I had committed for I knew now there were many views regarding their appropriateness. Of course I knew I would not be able to be as open about it as I had during my travels on the other side of the Ocean Sea, and that those pleasures were still seen as a sin by my Christian church, but I was not that worried that I was about to lose sleep over it. After all, I was the Lord of Quintas de Ribeiro, a man of power, and one who could do as he pleased. Life as the Lord of Quintas de Ribeiro was not going to be that difficult getting used to.

I smiled with that thought, and as Father Antonio continued my mind wandered. I thought of my pregnant wife sitting beside me and the joy I felt having my child growing in her belly, and I thought of my six-year-old stepson and my teenage castrati concubine and the joy of sucking their cocks and bringing them to a climax and filling their rectums with my seed. I thought of my vassal, eighteen-year-old Vasco de Azurara sitting several pews behind me, and of having filled his rectum and his belly with my seed yesterday, and of having had my ass fucked by his ten-year-old cousin.

My mind wandered further and I thought of King Manuel's gift extending the size of my estate and of his confidence that he had decided to push for further exploration of Bartolomeu Dias's route around the tip of the Dark Continent, and I wondered what it would be like to travel to Cathay and Cipango and see with my own eyes the wonders of the land of the Great Khan, and I wondered if there were those who worshipped young boys there as I do. I shifted uncomfortably in the pew reserved for the Lord of the Quintas de Ribeiro and hoped that nobody, and especially the Lord of Heaven, noticed that the Lord of the Quintas de Ribeiro had an erection, though I suspected with the large donation I had left on the collection plate He would look the other way and forgive me.

The End