Listen To Me: In The Beginning
This story, like all my other stories, is pure fiction. All characters are over twenty one years old, preferably older. I have no interest in teenagers, not since I was a teenager myself. The, 'hero,' of these stories is in his early thirties, (32) and interested in women from their late twenties to late forties, occasionally older. Women who know their own minds, know what they like, and are open minded enough to explore their options when the opportunity arises. Read on then!
Magic, or the possibility of magic, has always fascinated me. I don't mean stage magicians, conjurers and the like. I mean the possibility of real magic, where someone can do something out of the ordinary, by the force of his or her will, or some special knowledge acquired by years of study. When I was a kid, the likes of Spiderman comics, although amusing didn't really do it for me, but Dr Strange, now that got my attention from the word go!
I never lost that fascination for magic, and would devour books, novels, films, anything where the theme was magic. Thanks J.K. for giving us Harry Potter and feeding my young life with magic, but Harry Potter aside, I became quite knowledgeable on a certain level about all things magical. My interest however remained strictly on that level. More of an interested observer, rather than a practitioner.
I collected old books on magic, and read them avidly, but never tried any of the, 'spells,' or such like. I knew most of it was nonsense, just like all religions, nice stories, but nothing to do with reality. As I grew up and learned more about the world, my interest in magic took a back seat to real life. Sure, I still read books, novels etc, watched the films, videos and whatever came along, but education, university, finding a job, relationships, the everyday world of living, working, and earning enough money to provide myself with a house, food, car, an enjoyable lifestyle, etc, etc, took priority.
In my teenage years my main interests changed, and to be quite honest, it changed to sex. No lies, no fucking about, no excuses, sex was way more interesting than magic. It was real, I could feel and touch it, the smell of it, the taste of it. I adored women; the way they could make me feel, and more importantly (for me) the way I could make
them
feel, and I mean
them,
not just
her
in the singular.
I loved to hear the sound of a woman having an orgasm, the moans, the whimpering, plaintive whining, little screams, and sometimes not so little screams of a woman in full shaking, shuddering, helpless, orgasm. I would do it again and again, as often as I could, always trying to give her more as long as I could physically manage to stay hard.
I think I became quite good at it if the reactions of my lovers was anything to go by. I wasn't content to just do it though. I read about it, studied it, studied anatomical diagrams and photos so I knew where all the erogenous zones on a woman's body were located. Yes, I know a clitoris when I see it, feel it, or suck it, and where to find her g-spot.
I read books on how to become the sensual man, how to please a woman in bed, or the back seat of a car, or wherever. I read voraciously, always looking to be a better lover, always looking for another insight as to what pleased women. I made a point of asking the women themselves, especially the older ones, what more I could do to please them, and they would take the time to tell me and teach me if they thought I was willing to learn, so learn I did.
However, there's nothing quite like the full, 'hands on,' experience of the real thing to hone your skills. The touch and feel of a woman's body, the look on her face, her eyes, the warm responsive skin, the sounds she makes as she reacts to your touch, your caresses and kisses. Listen to her as you make love to her. The male ears are the most underutilised and ignored sexual organs. The sounds she makes as she responds to what you're doing will tell you what she likes, so always listen and then do it again, just to check. If it feels good to her once, she'll probably find it even better if you do it twice... or more.
Despite all my assiduous learning and study, there came a point where my last relationship had ground to a halt and we finally split up. We'd been together for a few months, but there was a lot we didn't agree on, and the one thing we did agree on was that enough was enough, and so we said our goodbyes. We remained friends, good friends, and occasionally scratched a mutual sexual itch when the need arose, what they call, 'fuck buddies,' or to put it more delicately, 'friends with benefits.'
So, although I wasn't lacking too much in the sex department, I'd hit a dry spell, a temporary hiatus. I wasn't too concerned, and I was confident things would pick up again if I set my mind to it. Make no mistake, there were women I was pretty sure of, women who may have been willing partners, but I've always been very fastidious. I won't make love to just any woman because she has an available pussy, which leads to my little mild side kink. I like a woman to be a challenge, not too eagerly available, not too easily seduced, a bit reluctant even.
I don't mean I would ignore her protests if she said no, and just continue to inflict myself on her. That's rape, and not what I mean at all. I could go on about how disgusting rape is, but I think we all know that already, or at least we should.
No, no, what I mean is a woman who on the face of it may seem a little reluctant, unsure if she really wants to have sex, but then somehow finds herself succumbing gradually, but helplessly to her
own
horniness despite any reservations or initial reluctance she may have felt. Not really resisting
me
, but conflicted and battling with her own sexuality and horniness.
Not long after I split up with my latest lover, I found my two great passions in life coming together. I had gone away for a few days, somewhere off the usual tourist track, and found myself in a small, 'Bed and Breakfast,' guest house by the shores of Loch Ness, in Northern Scotland.
A strange place for a break you may think, but not at all, you'd be wrong. The scenery is breathtaking and the loch, or lake in English, has a brooding presence hard to understand until you are there. There is more fresh water in Loch Ness than in the whole of England and Wales combined, and it is of course the home of the legendary Loch Ness Monster. It's all nonsense of course, but it's worth millions every year to the local economy through tourism.
A lesser known, 'monster,' of more interest to those who are aware of magic and the occult, is that Boleskine House, on the shores of Loch Ness was once home to the self-proclaimed, 'Beast,' Aleister Crowley. A scholar, poet, black magician and writer, born in the late eighteen hundreds and well known in occult circles in the early twentieth century. The house was later bought in 1971 by Jimmy Page of Led Zepplin fame, who was interested in Crowley. It went on fire in 2015, long after Page sold it, and then again in 2019. It is currently in the process of being rebuilt, and is now owned by a trust who will open it to the public once restoration is complete. Funnily enough, despite my interest in magic, I had never heard of Boleskine House until I spent a few days at Loch Ness.
On the Saturday of my long weekend at Loch Ness, I went into the nearest city, Inverness, to have a look around, after all, I was a tourist and that's what tourists do. It was here I bought something which was going to change my life forever. Quite simply, it was a very old book, and I found it in a charity shop run by a charity with Church of Scotland connections.
I walked into the charity shop, always on the lookout for old books on magic, and even just looking through the shop window I could see they had some old books on their shelves. Ever hopeful, I entered the shop, and my heart skipped a beat as I read the title of a red, leather bound volume on the top shelf which quite simply stated, 'Majick,' a strange, perhaps archaic spelling of the word.
Excited beyond words I took it from the shelf, and flipped open the book. It was a strange mish-mash of pictures, diagrams, including pentagrams, notes scrawled in the margins. I shut it again but determined to buy it. I looked at the book shelf again, but saw nothing more of any interest to me, except the prices. 'Paperbacks £1, Hardbacks, £2, which I found astonishing.
Here was an antique book on offer at two pounds, it had to be worth at least ten times more, or perhaps even a hundred times more. I walked up to the counter, the assistant smiled at me, I handed over the book and she looked at it. My heart was racing in case there was any last minute hitch, some mistake, but she just smiled at me again and asked if I wanted a bag for the book. I accepted her offer and handed over a £5 note. I told her to keep the change, after all, it was a charity shop. She slipped the book into a plastic carrier bag, and with her lovely face all smiles handed the book over. It was mine!
Before I left the shop I asked out of sheer curiosity if she knew where the book had come from.
'I believe it was from a batch of old books left by the estate of a retired church minister who lived somewhere up by Loch Ness. The late Reverend William McDonald, but that's all I know, sorry I can't be of more help than that,' she apologised. I thanked her and left the shop, pleased with my purchase, and promptly forgot about it until I got home the following Monday.
As usual after a trip away, I loaded the used clothing, socks, underpants, shirts, etc into the washing machine, and put my small overnight suitcase into my wardrobe. The book lay on top of the coffee table, unread until I made myself a cup of tea, and then I sat down to read it.
Unlike something like a novel this book was what I would call a, 'dipper.' A book, you dip into, read a few pages, and then put down again until you have the time to read another part. There was no story as such to keep the reader engrossed. It was more like a text book, but this one was a guide to common, 'spells,' and such like, and one chapter caught my attention; the chapter entitled, 'Words of power.'
It went on at length that certain words had powers that used properly, and at the right time could sway and influence the listener to your will, make them do your bidding. One of the examples caught my imagination.
'If a maid thou would have, but speak this word, and she shall straightway be thine.' That sounded interesting I mused, the only thing was, I couldn't just try it on some unsuspecting woman, because it was such a strange word and I couldn't see how I could possibly fit it into a conversation. Eventually I decided the easiest way was to use it as a book or film title.
