Pornopolis The Journey Ch 01

I don't know how things are done in your village, but this is how they are done in mine.

Nineteen is a sacred number. Nineteen deities are painted on the walls of the holy cavern; nine Gods, nine Goddesses, and one blessed Androgyne. Nineteen moon-cycles are in each ring of the sun. There are nineteen animal spirits to which we can appeal for guidance and nineteen Great Laws passed down to us by our ancestors.

Most importantly, the age of nineteen is when a boy is supposed a man and a girl is supposed a woman. Before nineteen, we are not allowed to fuck. Fucking is the great business of life. It is how we speak to the Gods. It is what builds the bonds of love which holds us together as a people. It is the all-powerful force which creates new life. Before nineteen, it is believed that a young person does not possess the wisdom to master such a great power. Before nineteen, we must do the whacky-whack three times a day to dissipate the sacred energy so it does not consume our souls.

The day a young person becomes nineteen is a day of great celebration for the entire village, and a day of great importance in the young person's life. I was very nervous the day before mine, and my friends and family did nothing to allay my fears.

My good friend Lame Deer turned nineteen just a few moons before I did. He told me that he was forced to walk a thousand miles north to the Great Blasted Desert, to bury his most prized possession in its sands. Of course, his most prized possession was the knife given to him by his father, and he was using it to whittle a stick even as he told me this. So I think he may have been lying.

"You must suck the daddles of every man in the village, and swallow all their bitter spunk," my sister Onion Patch told me. She was but twenty, and already had twin babbies suckling at her tatty nips. "If you vomit, you fail the test and must wait another nineteen years." I think this one was a lie as well.

But my cousin Fell-From-the-Sky was not prone to lies. He was a teacher of children and a very serious man. He said I was to be fucked in the bummy by the Chief Father, and that the Chief Father's daddle was as big as an ordinary man's arm. I knew that much was true because the Chief Father seldom bothered with a loin-covering, and his jewel-adorned daddle dangled past his knees. I had never seen it in its angered state, but my imagination shivered at the thought of that monster crawling into my tight bummy-hole.

So the night before my nineteen was filled with frightful dreams, but ended all too quickly. I was awoken before dawn by the gentle kisses of my mother and a clout on the head by my father. They dragged me from my bed and sent me off to the hut on the river's edge, where I was to be prepared for the ceremony.

Five beautiful maidens, the fairest unmarried women in the village, were waiting for me. Among them was the most beautiful of them all- Dawn's First Light, she of the green-tinged eyes and the perfect round tatties which made one wish to lay his head upon them like soft pillows which would bring the sweetest dreams. Laughing and smiling, but not saying a word, the women stripped me of my bedclothes and bathed me in warm perfumed water. It was wonderful to be scrubbed and massaged by these fair young women in their thin, short ceremonial robes which scarcely covered their bodies. My daddle was already standing at attention even before I was made to drink the sacred brew. The women pointed and laughed and made whispered jokes. The oldest among them, a distant cousin of mine named Mossy Rock, dried me with soft cloths and made very sure my daddle and its dangling sac were quite dry.

Then the sacred brew was brought to me in its ancient stone chalice. Dawn's First Light held my arms and Mossy Rock held my nose as a third woman poured the brew into my mouth. This was the first taste I had of the Semen of the Gods and it was every bit as bitter as I had been told. Foul and thick and slimy, it coursed down my throat past my appalled tongue, tasting like every rotten thing from the jungle floor mixed with stomach bile. It had an aftertaste like something sucked from a dead dog's bummy.

I knew a little of its ingredients. My mother was the village's brewmaster and I had helped her prepare it many times. The potion contained blue mushrooms gathered from the Valley of the Rats, buttons harvested from the Tatty Cactus in the Great Blasted Desert, venom milked from the rare Night Snake, seeds from Dawn Star flowers and various Poppies, flowery buds from the Ganji plant, leaves of the Koka, a twist of the Vine of the Dead, and a few healthy squirts of Tree Monkey spunk. (Mother had always given me the unenviable task of stroking the monkeys until they spurted. They clawed and bit at first, but became embarrassingly attached to me afterward.) There were also a few secret ingredients which Mother had never allowed me to see.

I was forced to drink the entire contents of the chalice. The women politely averted their eyes while I vomited what felt like my entire stomach out. Then my mouth was gently wiped and I was given sweet water flavored with mint leaves to wash the foul taste away.

The preparations continued. I was completely shorn by their careful scraping blades. The light soft fuzz on my cheeks was shaved away for the first time. The hair on my head, uncut since birth and hanging almost to my waist, was cut away and my scalp was made bare. The hair on my legs and under my arms, gone. Even my proud kinky daddle-hairs were removed. I was hairless as a babe, symbolizing my rebirth as an adult.

My tender shaved skin was soothed with cooling creams and then my entire body was anointed with oils and the smoke of fragrant burning powders.

By now the first effects of the wicked brew were beginning to come on. My eyes felt as hard and as faceted as jewels, and I began to see crawling brown vines at the edges of my vision. The vines whispered in their soft windy language of the tricks and treats they were planning to subject me to over the course of this long day and night. But the most remarkable initial effect of the brew was what it had done to my daddle. It stood fuller and prouder, more hard and angry, than it had ever been in my life.

My foreskin had been cut away in another (much less pleasant) ritual only a year before. The bulbous mushroom head bulged and seemed to emit a dull purplish glow. The staff had become so hard and swollen that it curved back in on itself in a sickle-shape, pointing at my navel. I was not used it to seeing it all bald and naked and hairless, either, and this only made it seem larger. Its tiny mouth curved into a grin and the lips moved as if speaking. I could not hear the words it said yet, but knew it would only be a matter of time before I could.

It throbbed with sensations too exquisite to be called pain. The maidens gazed upon its glory with wide eyes and tongue-moistened lips, but they were not allowed to touch or to taste it yet. Except for the elder maiden, my cousin, who was given the task of painting it with dark brown dye. Intricate patterns of spirals and vines and tiny animal totems. Stars and flowers and whirling mandalas. The brew in my inflamed blood magnified each stroke of her brush into shivering vibrations which communicated the sacred meanings of the patterns she drew right into the roots of my soul. It took her nearly an hour to complete and I was bidden to remain still the entire time.

When she was finished, she and the other women blew upon the dye to dry it. The gentle breeze stroked me with indescribable delicacy and my skin could taste the perfumes of their breath. Then the base of my proud staff was encircled with smooth jeweled rings and tight bands of sacred metal.

I was ready. My head full of stars and eyes and jewels and birds, I was led to the first station of my trial.

Everyone in the village was waiting for me in the center circle. As they all watched, I was tied to the great fruit tree which contained our village's protector spirit, Noj. My arms were stretched out onto his branches and bound to them with leather straps. The sacred pose known to the elders as "cruciform." A cloth was wrapped about my eyes so I could see only the light which came from within my soul.

I had witnessed this portion of the ritual many times as a child, and so I knew what was happening. Several people of age from the village, chosen by lot, would kneel before me in turn. Each one would suck my daddle for the duration of nineteen beats of a drum. The one who managed to coax my seed and swallow it would be blessed with good fortune and fertility for the entire sun-cycle to come.

Though I could not see, I could easily tell the identity of each person who sucked me. My blind eyes saw only the cosmic workings of sky and earth, but my daddle could see even if my eyes could not, and it could taste things as well.

First was Jewel Eyes, a woman who had reached nineteen just one moon before me. Her lips moved hot and fast upon my tattooed daddle, sucking eagerly, hoping to bring me off fast before anyone else could. I smiled at her bravado, but did not reward it. To spurt for the first one would bring bad fortune instead of good. Next was Old Green Hands, the keeper of the village gardens. His wise toothless mouth tasted like wood-smoke and he puffed on me as if I was a Ganji stick. Then came Devil Woman, so named because she had been raped by a demon when she was just a girl, which had made her an Idiot. She sucked me like a machine, efficiently but without passion. I considered giving her my seed, in the hopes that my blessing would help to counteract the curse of the demon. Before I could muster the energy to expel my spunk, though, the nineteenth drum beat sounded and she was replaced by the laughing breath of Rooster Who Lives as a Hen.

And so it went for a very long time until finally the eighteenth person, Black Oak, finished with his attempt and stood up, disappointed as the others had been. I could sense the crowd's excitement. To spurt off on the nineteenth drumbeat of the nineteenth supplicant was considered a very powerful blessing indeed. Good fortune and fertility would not be for the swallower alone, but for the entire village.

The nineteenth person knelt before me. As soon as her lips slid past the glowing crown of my daddle-head, I could tell it was Dawn's First Light. For years I had watched her bummy and her tatties and her soft sweet mouth and longed for the day when I would come of age. And now that day had come and Dawn's First Light was on her knees slurping at my throbbing knob. Her tongue traced lines over the sensitive network of painted designs, navigating them like rivers inside her mouth. She took me into her throat and sang a humming song of prayer, her pearly white teeth clamping upon the metal rings at the base of my daddle. The vibrations traveled into the roots of the tree growing from my center. Deep inside my soul, a million seeds were clustered together like a million stars in deepest space. At the insistent command from the mouth of Dawn's First Light, the cluster exploded. I felt it go with an ecstatic agony, a great explosion that was like birth and death and re-birth, all at once. A huge crashing bang which sent the stars flying into the corners of my soul, where they would create new galaxies of light. The stars bled from the head of my daddle into the eager mouth of Dawn's First Light.

She swallowed the first few spurts, but the raging flow soon grew too great for her. She fell back as my starry spunk rained over her face and tatties. The crowd let out a roaring cheer and still I was shooting stars and seeds into the air. They fell to the ground like blessed rain, making the soil fertile. In my mind I could see the flowers which would grow from the seeds I had planted in the ground. And still the flow did not abate. I spurted and spurted and spurted. I was too overwhelmed by rapture to count, but I would not have been surprised to learn I had spurted exactly nineteen times.

Dawn's First Light tore the cloth from my eyes and kissed me with a mouth full of my own stars. On her lips they tasted of the Wicked Brew I had consumed, but now I relished its bitter flavor.

Then she turned to the crowd and allowed her eleven sisters to lick my seed from her face and neck and chest and tatties. There was much jubilation. I had done well. Two men came and unbound my arms. I fell to the base of the tree, exhausted, but they lifted me up and carried me off.

Gods help me, that was only the first station of four.

On most days, after I do the whacky-whack and spurt off, my daddle withers and I am relieved. But the Wicked Brew in my blood and the tight rings around my daddle not only kept it hard, they seemed to be making it grow even harder. It curved back even more, like my naval was a mamoose that it wanted to fuck.

The men carried me and dropped me inside the door of the Chief Father's hut. I had been too dazed to realize where they were taking me, but now I remembered what Fell-From-the-Sky had told me and I became afraid.

The Chief Father seemed to read my mind. Lounging on his soft couch beside a fire, despite it being the middle of a hot day, he called to me in his jolly, booming voice: "Do not be afraid, my son. Come closer."

I timidly got to my feet and stepped into his hut. When I got closer I saw that he was naked, idly toying with his massive daddle, stroking it like a beloved pet python. Adding to my astonishment and anxiety, he had painted it a bright blue for this occasion.

The Chief Father was not yet an old man, but he was well past the summer of his life, and entering the autumn years. His great black mane was streaked with gray and was thinning on top. His eyes were intense and serious, but mouth was jolly and round. Despite the great size of his masculine parts, there was something feminine about him as well. A roundness to his body, a softness to his face. He was fastidious about his appearance, and had trimmed the hair of his body into neat little bushes about his daddle and under his arms. He also appeared to have stained his lips with berry-juice, the way the women sometimes did.

I knelt before his couch and humbly lowered my head. He laughed at my submission. "Relax, young one," he said. "Come, sit beside me."

I sat beside him on the couch. My brew-heightened senses registered his scent like something blown in on a sea-breeze, only hot instead of cold. The heat seemed not to be coming from the fire, but from his skin.

"I understand you did quite well with your first station," he said. "Congratulations. You have bestowed a great blessing upon us, and you have duly impressed Dawn's First Light. She has yet to select a mate, you know. You would make her a fine husband."

My heart leapt at that, but I simply said: "Thank you, Chief Father."

"But now it is time for your second station. Do you know what that entails?"

"I think so, Chief Father."

"And yet you are still afraid. Why?"

I glanced down at his gigantic blue python, the obvious source of my fear.

The Chief Father chuckled. "Relations between a man and a woman are sacred because in this way we petition the Gods to create new life," he said. "But relations between men, and between women, are of equal importance. The daddle and the mamoose are only part of the shells which cover us. Within, we are all the same. Only by fucking both men and women can we find balance between the male and female spirits which reside within each of us."

I nodded. I knew that much from lessons at school. Still, it was one thing to hear those words and quite another to allow someone to put their huge daddle-wanger up your tiny little bummy-hole.

"Will it hurt?" I asked.

"Pain and pleasure are two edges of the same blade," he answered.

This did not reassure me much. The Chief Father saw me frown and laughed loudly. "Do not worry, son. It will not hurt. It will bring you pleasure you have never known. Here, fetch me that piece of fruit from the table there."

I brought him the pink-skinned fruit. He split it open with his thumbs, revealing the juicy flesh inside, which was dotted with large black seeds.

"Do you know what this fruit is called?" he asked.

"It's called a cunny-fruit," I answered.

"Do you know why?"

"Because it smells and tastes like a woman."

He chuckled. "Yes, but that is not all. This fruit will turn your bummy-hole into a mamoose. It will allow you to experience fucking as a woman does. Get on your hands and knees."

Shaking a little despite his reassurances, I rolled over and surrendered my bummy to the Chief Father. He slathered my back-side with the cool, thick juice of the fruit. All around the outside at first, and then working it into my bummy with one of his fat fingers. I gasped a little as he penetrated me, but the juices were so slick and wet his finger slid in easily. It didn't hurt, but the sensation was so new and different I couldn't say yet if it was pleasing.

"Women are blessed with a boundless fountain of lubricating fluid," the Chief Father said as he worked on me back there. "It is one of the four sacred essences. Unfortunately, men must make do with the juices of the fruit."

He was working more and more of the stuff up into me, using two fingers now. There was definitely some heat building, a strange pleasure. I moaned a little.

"The fruit will also relax your muscles, to make them open and receptive. And that is not all. Do you know what a woman's pearly nub is?"

"I think so." He was thrusting his fingers in and out of me now and it was becoming difficult to speak.

"A woman's pearly nub allows her to experience much more pleasure than a man's daddle allows him. But men have a pearly nub, too. It is here."

He touched something inside me which sent vibratory shocks up and down every nerve ending in my body. I cried out loud.

"The seeds of the fruit adhere to the skin around your bummy hole and to the walls inside. Each one becomes a pearly nub. Each one will buzz with pleasure."

He took a bite of the fruit and chewed away the flesh around the seed. Then he bent over and pushed the seed up my bummy with his tongue. The thing began to buzz almost immediately, like he had stuck a cicada up inside me. Then he put another seed inside me. And another. And another. The buzzing became a chorus. They sang in a harmony that was not sound but sensation.

There were at least five or six of the buzzing pearly seeds affixed to me now. The Chief Father set the fruit aside. He kissed and licked and sucked my sopping seeded bummy.

I had often spied on my sister as she laid with her many lovers, and she always bade them to eat her mamoose. Onion Patch would recline on her back with her legs spread wide while the man or the woman she was with pleasured her. She would moan and grunt, sometimes crying, sometimes screaming. I had always supposed she was exaggerating her own pleasure for the sake of her lovers, Onion Patch being a person of dramatic inclinations. Now I knew she was not exaggerating. Now I knew what she what she was feeling.

The Chief Father's masterful tongue and lips played upon me most exquisitely, alternating firm and gentle, slow and fast. He began to hum the tune of an old sacred song and I pushed my bummy back to press it closer upon his loving mouth.

The Wicked Brew in my blood allowed me to forget that I was a man. I had become, for the moment, a woman. The female spirit inside me arose to the surface and delighted herself with the Chief Father's deep soul kisses. I reached a climax as a woman does, without spurting, keeping it inside instead of releasing it into the void. And like a woman, my climax only made me hungry for more.

I grew impatient with his mouth. I needed more. I needed his daddle. I needed to be fucked.