Eff Del

First Light

As the world grew gradually lighter, the bird sounds could be heard as they cried out from their hiding places among the thick branches of the lower forest canopy. Their calls; first tentative and then raucous spread the message to each other and the surrounding world; "It's alright. The morning is breaking. The darkness is fading. The black terror of the night things is gone from the earth for a few more hours."

Somewhere under the slate grey sky, the sun began the ponderous effort of rising from its secluded resting place below the horizon.

Shedding the womblike warmth of the blankets with a deliberate; almost angry reluctance, the man stirred peering into the yet cool morning air in an exploratory fashion.

Rising to his feet he opened his mouth in a wide leonine yawn. He casually scratched his chest, scrotum and buttocks as he gazed slowly around the room from under sleep heavy eyelids.

Assured of the rightness of things, he snatched the long strip of once white cloth up from the floor and shook it vigorously.

With a sullen satisfaction he watched as the agitation dislodged the blue-shelled beetle that had taken refuge among the folds of the material. The creature was thrown some feet away; landing on its hard round back with multiple legs flailing in the air. In a few moments the sheer energy of its thrashing righted it and it scampered away to seek a new (if temporary) hiding place.

Wrapping the colorless cloth that functioned as his garment twice around his waist, he cinched the leather cord that acted as his belt tight enough to hold the make- shift kilt in place.

Almost casually, he slipped his feet into the old worn shoes that had served him without benefit of laces for more mornings than he chose to acknowledge. He remembered when they'd had laces. He could draw them tightly around his feet and he could run with a sure swiftness. Now, they were loose. He'd not yet got around to fashioning rawhide strips for laces and this morning there was no helping that fact. Today, he would pay the price of yesterday's sloth.

The man was forced to walk with a careful thoughtful gait lest the ill-fitting footwear fly off his feet if he strode too vigorously.

With customary and practiced deliberation, the man walked outside into the morning air. It was already warming even though the sun was still struggling to appear in the half dark sky. With the end of a thin stick, he probed the grey ash he had banked against the corner of the ancient iron stove last night and turned a glowing red lump from its hiding place and out into the middle. The still hot coal brought a smile of satisfaction to his face. This morning would be easy. The fire would be quick. The day was beginning well.

His practiced hands fed small bits of fuel into the fire box to satisfy the hungry heat sleeping within the glowing lump. Suddenly; violently it manifested itself by bursting into bright flame. Adding more wood into the stove he nodded approvingly.

The man lifted the old iron pots from the grate and carried them down the well-trod slope to the clear pool of water created by the sharp bend in the stream. It was because of this large calm source of pure water that he had chosen to build the stronghold here in the very long ago.

He dipped the pots; first the large one and then the smaller into the water.

The slowly building heat of the morning caused a mist to rise stream like from the surface of the almost glass calm water. To his eyes, the vapor gave the impression that the water was warm; almost heated, but the crisp bite of the cold liquid against the bare skin of his arms gave the lie to that illusion.

Hefting the now filled pots, he decided that despite the weight, he could carry them back to the stove in one trip.

Shortly, as the steam rose from the two heating pots, the man bent over and opened the large wooden chest. He pulled out the plump herb bag and laid it aside and then withdrew the two ceramic cups.

Setting them upon the crude table he smiled with pleasure. He remembered when he had formed them from the river clay. It had not been as easy as he'd thought it might be. Through slow trial and error, he had taught himself to create the pottery and more importantly; how to glaze and fire the objects so that they would hold liquid.

He placed two plates alongside the cups and nodded again. They were pleasing to look at and he was proud of his long ago handiwork.

Unrolling the herb bag, the man considered the dried material critically before deciding upon three. Pinching a quantity of each of these, he dropped some of the dried material into both of the ceramic cups.

Satisfied, the man rolled the herb bag back up and returned it to the chest.

Grasping the old carved wooden ladle hanging from a nearby tree branch, he filled each mug with hot water from the smaller pot. Sniffing the fragrant steam, he set the cups aside to steep. Half shuffling half walking the man approached the large wooden cabinet that he had long ago fashioned to rest securely in the twisted fork of two twin tree trunks.

Opening the door he used the large knife hanging inside to slice two thick strips of meat from the smoked haunch hanging from the hook. From the other side of the cabinet, he tore of two chunks of bread from the hard dark loaf that rested there.

As he did this, he silently acknowledged that he would have to bake again soon. The man did not relish this idea as the bread baking was nearly as difficult and far less emotionally satisfying as hunting and killing the animals that supplied the meat. Gazing at the hanging haunch he noted forlornly that this was another task he must face soon.

Carrying his chosen articles back to the stove, the man stretched the strips of meat over the grate and placed a chunk of bread upon each of the two plates.

Grasping one of the steaming cups, the man sat in his large wooden chair and took a tentative sip. The tea was fruity and naturally sweet. He smiled and enjoyed the tang of it upon his tongue.

The sound drew his gaze to the door of the stronghold in time to see the boy step out into the morning.

Even after all this time the man reflected that the boy was the most beautiful thing in his world. Slender willowy legs and thin arms with skin the color of the sweet honey they occasionally stole from the beehives together.

His long shimmering hair hung down to his thin shoulders flying wildly as the boy turned his head. He saw the man just as the man saw him and his bright eyes smiled from under long dark lashes. He was naked as usual and he made his way barefoot down the path.

The man watched as the sprite like little body moved with graceful quick movements not unlike a bird's as he snatched the other cup from the table and tasted the hot beverage cautiously before looking up at the man with a wide smile.

The man rose from his chair and gestured the small boy to a bench at the table. Spearing the meat from the hot grille with a pointed stick, he placed a steaming strip upon each of the plates and set one before the smiling boy.

Silently they broke their fast and once finished, the man watched as the boy sopped up the grease from his plate with a corner of the hard bread.

The man thought that soon they must seek out a bee's hive so that the boy would have something sweet to dip his crust in. Such adventures were always fun. The man would chase and subdue the swarming insects by swinging his smudge pots belching thick greasy smoke while the boy pulled out the waxen combs dripping with amber sweet goodness.

After they had stored the lion's share of the honey in clear glass jars left over from the long ago time, they would always share one comb: laughing as the sweetness pleased their tongues and the sticky thick syrup dripped down their lips and chins. The naked boy would always let some spatter upon his thin chest and stomach and the man would enjoy licking if off of his smooth skin while the boy laughed with uninhibited glee.

Returning to the here and now, the man placed the plates into a basket to be carried to the water later for washing. Still holding his cup, he sat back down onto his large chair.

Grasping his own cup, the boy silently climbed up and settled upon the man's lap leaning back against the hairy chest softly issuing a sigh of contentment.

Without thinking the man ran a hand gently down the boy's soft thigh in a slow almost mindless rhythm while with his other hand he gently dandled the small boy bits that hung between the child's long smooth legs.

Unlike his own rough, wrinkled and hairy parts, these felt so silky and smooth to the touch. The man always enjoyed fondling and playing with them. The boy obviously enjoyed the touching as well because his round little bottom wiggled and squirmed on the man's lap and in short measure his little boy rod grew hard and stiff.

The man stroked the child's erection with tender determination as he watched and felt the boy on his lap enter and then emerge from the energetic throes of pleasure.

The boy did not yet issue the thick white fluid that marked a man but he obviously experienced great enjoyment from the action none the less.

The boy's chest heaved rapidly from his just spent passion and he twisted his head around raising his body to allow his cheek to rub against the man's.

He grinned knowingly at the man and jumped deer like to the ground and sprinted like a wild thing up the path and into the stronghold.

Shortly, he returned carrying a long finely made wooden case and a small lidded jar. These he placed upon the table. The boy eyed the man and nodded with a smile as he opened the lid of the case.

The small hands extracted a worn leather strap with a brass hook fixed to one end. He put the hook through a brass eyelet that had been screwed into one of the end boards of the table.

Grasping the other end of the strap tightly, the boy took the razor from its fitted rest at the bottom of the case.

The blade was old and very long; half again as long as the boy's hand from wrist to fingertip.

With practiced skill the boy worked the blade up and down the length of the leather which he held taut as he slowly and skillfully stropped the edge of the blade to exquisite keenness.

After a while, the boy examined the blade in the slowly improving morning light and gently ran a thumb along the edge. He smiled at the man satisfied with his handiwork. Laying the razor almost lovingly down upon a folded cloth, he took the brush and bowl from the case.

Using the ladle, the boy sprinkled a few drops of hot water from the larger pot into the bowl moistening the small mass of soap that it contained.

Tossing his head back to clear the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes, he dipped the bristles of the brush into the hot water in the pot and then began to swiftly whisk the soap in the bowl until he had raised a thick lather.

The man leaned back in his chair and draped his head over the edge of the backrest exposing his neck to the sullen grey sky.

Silently, the boy approached with the brush and bowl and worked the warm lather into the hair and stubble.

Pleased with his coverage, he placed the brush and bowl onto the table and picked up the razor and with slow long strokes, worked the sharp blade along the contours of the man's face and neck; pausing often to wipe the edge clean on a soft cloth. When he felt he had shaved the man clean, the boy gently ran his little palms over the skin in order to satisfy himself with the completeness of his work.

Dipping a towel into the hot water roiling in the large pot, he gingerly wrung it out and then placed the steaming cloth against the man's newly shaven face and neck.

While the man enjoyed the heat against his skin, the boy placed the brush in the basket with the plates. Adding the two now empty cups, he walked down to the water and rinsed each of the items clean.

Placing the basket upon the shore, the boy took in a deep breath and plunged head first into the crackling cold water.

Just a few moments and the chill proved too much for him and shivering violently, he plucked up the basket and scampered up the slope.

The man was waiting when he reached the table. He had folded up the towels and replaced the razor and strop in the case. Taking the brush from the basket, he shook it briskly sending a fine spray of water splashing onto the boy causing him to squeal in mock protest. Placing the brush and bowl in the case, the man closed the lid and set it aside.

Returning the cups and plates carefully back in the chest, the man smiled down at the boy who had stopped shivering and stood face upturned with eyes closed and a small smile upon his lips.

The man drew the boy to him and embraced him tightly. The boy leaned against him; relaxed and comfortable as he enjoyed the intimacy.

Releasing the embrace, the man ran his fingertips slowly down the boy's back feeling the rhythm as he passed over each vertebra in the spine and finally resting on the soft globes of the young lush ass.

Grasping them gently but firmly, he lifted the boy up and guided him over so that he lay on the table.

Still firmly gripping the boy's melon like globes, the man raised the thin pelvis up as he lowered his face to the small rising crotch. The boy smiled and rolled his eyes in anticipation and he breathed a soft "Ahhhh." As the man's lips enveloped his iron hard little rod.

The boy rocked and moaned as the man licked and sucked upon his boyhood until the familiar fire rose from somewhere in his belly and erupted in a dry explosion.

The man located the small jar of oil the boy had brought from inside the stronghold and he quickly dipped two fingers deeply. Bringing them down between the boy's open legs, the man smeared the viscous fluid down the crevasse between the two fleshy mounds and probed the tight little gateway with one thick oil slick finger.

The boy rested back on the table and drew his knees up to his shoulders. Gently but firmly the man's iron hard member found and penetrated its target causing the boy to emit a soft hiss as he expelled his breath in response to the sudden intrusion.

The man felt himself engulfed by the boy's hot, smooth, exquisite tightness as he drove deep until his pubic bone pressed against the small firm globes of the boy's bottom. Slowly but deliberately the man drew himself almost out and then back in, repeating the action without pause as the boy rocked beneath him thrusting his hips to work in unison with the man's determined and quickening strokes.

There was no music save for their individual breathing and sounds of lust and pleasure but this was most certainly a dance they had shared many times.

As the explosion neared, the man drove himself deeply into the boy, pulling the small body against his groin as he felt himself expel his fluids hot, deep and violently into the compliant child.

The man pulled out and ran his hands gently; lovingly down the small body that lay panting for breath on the table. Dipping one of the nearby towels in the large pot, the man slowly washed between the boy's legs and all throughout his hidden crevice. He pulled the boy back up to a standing position and stooped down to kiss his eyes, nose and pouting red lips.

The smiling boy danced more than walked to the nearby hammock the man had put up shortly after the warm days had returned. Hopping up into the wide fabric, he curled himself into a tight little ball and fell asleep almost at once.

The man glanced at him lovingly as the big hammock folded around his small sleeping form. The boy looked for the moment like a small brown nut wrapped in its protective shell as the hammock rocked gently still reacting to the inertia of the boy climbing aboard.

Packing away the remainder of the things they had used this morning, the man quietly carried the razor case and the oil jar back into the stronghold and put everything back in their proper place.

Through the dim ligh of the large room, he checked the wood supply by the fireplace and absently straightened the blankets and furs that served as bed for both he and the boy.

Mentally he reviewed the current situation. He would need to bake soon; probably tomorrow and he would need to hunt in a few days. It was not yet nearing the cold time and so there was no urgency to stock pile meat or grain. The world was still warm and these were still the bountiful days.

It was a good morning to let the boy sleep. Later, they could go out together with sacks and gather fresh berries from the hill; perhaps even take a fish or two from the river to enjoy for their evening meal. Fresh fish would be a welcome change from the smoked meat they usually ate.

He regretted that the boy never spoke. This was the only thing deficient in his otherwise wonderful companionship. He knew well that the boy could make sounds and he certainly could hear because he responded to sounds and he learned and he reacted to the man's speech. It was almost as if the boy were afraid to talk. His memory returned back to the long ago when he had found the boy; small and frightened clinging to the dead body of the woman. From the child's attachment, the man assumed her to be the boy's mother though the boy's muteness never allowed him to provide confirmation.

He had no idea where they had come from. He'd not seen another human being since he built the stronghold in the long ago. Apparently, they had been caught in the forest after dark. The night things had killed the woman but spared the child for some reason.

He had buried the woman under a large tree so that he would remember the place if the boy ever wanted to find it. He'd carried the small boy back to the stronghold and they had lived together ever since. He loved the boy. The boy brought beauty and happiness into a world that had been dull commonplace before he came. The boy brought purpose and joy into the man's world and the man's heart soared every time he looked at him.

He remembered every moment of their together time; the warm soft comfort of the small naked body cuddled against him under the blankets at night 3; The musical laughter and the constant affectionate touching.

He recalled the first time he had fearfully considered seeking relief and pleasure from the boy's body. He was hesitant and terrified of hurting or frightening the small child but to his surprise the boy had understood his needs and instinctively had offered himself willingly; blankets thrown back and little legs spread wide, they had coupled in the darkness. Afterward, the man had wept out of pure fierce love for the boy.

The boy had been his constant companion from the first day and the man marveled at how smart he was. He learned after being shown a thing usually just once. His laughter was like music to the man's heart and his smile was bright as sunshine dancing on the water.

Once, in the days ago, down by the river, the man had fashioned a flute from some reeds and played a simple tune for the curious child. The boy's eyes had opened wide with wonder and pleasure. The man had created another flute and gave it to the boy; showing him how placing fingers over the holes in the tube altered the notes.

Very soon thereafter, the boy was fashioning complex melodies that tugged at the man's soul. Some were so bright and happy as to make his body sway and dance while others were so sad and melancholy as to almost draw tears from the eyes and break the heart in sorrow.

Sometimes the man imagined that this was how the boy spoke. The music of the flute was his voice and thus, he was eloquent.

Reaching up into one of the many cabinets that he had built long ago , the man selected a strip of dark rough leather. From his tool box he chose a sharp blade and a scraper. He carried these outside and down the path and sat himself at the table so that he could enjoy watching the sleeping boy. While he watched, he would begin cutting and scraping the strips of leather that would become new laces for his shoes.

The man smiled as he worked. This would be a productive day after all.

When the boy woke, they would spend the day gathering and fishing. When the evening meal was finished, he would bank the coals in the stove as he always did and with any luck in the morning; just as he had today, he would pluck a still burning ember from the ashes.

They would go inside the stronghold as the sun was setting and the man would bar the door against the Night Things. He would pour some oil into the lamps and light them. If there was a chill in the air, he would light a warm fire in the fire place and the boy would take up his flute and play his songs for the man. When the boy eventually grew tired of making music, he would put his flute safely aside and the man would take one of the books down from the shelf and read to the boy who would sit between his legs and try to follow the mysterious markings upon the paper that the man somehow magically transformed into words that then transitioned into stories.

The man would untie the belt thong and unwrap his kilt crawling naked under the covers to join the boy who waited for him. Except for the time of the cold days, the boy would not wear clothing and his beauty so bewitched the man that he had no complaint. Besides, who was there to object to the small innocent thing running joyfully naked through this otherwise grey world?

Under the warm comfort of the blankets and furs, they would pull close to one another and the man would whisper words of affection to the boy who in turn would make happy comforting noises.

Some nights they would fall asleep this way while on others, the boy would impetuously push back the covers and draw up his knees inviting the man to couple with him and give them both pleasure and comfort.

After some time, the man noticed the boy begin to stir in the hammock. He raised his head up from the canvass folds and seeing the man at the table; smiled broadly.

The man surveyed his morning's production with satisfaction. One more day's work and he would have sturdy laces for his shoes. He carried all of his materials back into the stronghold and emerged with two cloth sacks that could be slung over even the boy's slight shoulders. He also carried four cunningly fashioned fishing spears.

The boy was waiting and with a broad smile, folded himself against the man in a loving embrace.

The man handed the boy his shoulder sack and the two shorter spears. Reaching down he squeezed one of the boy's soft little globes and together they started down the path.

This was a good morning. Looking up into the grey canopy of the sky, the man noticed that the sun had barely begun its daily journey.

It would be a productive day.

The End