PR-352 Something in the Blood
Something in the Blood
Pleasure Reader
PR-352
Peter Tuesday Hughes
$1.95
INTRODUCTION
Lights under the front entrance of the hotel glimmered on his long, blond hair, burnishing it bronze. He wore an old Army overcoat of Loden green… After a brief and rather cold stare in my direction, the young man walked more rapidly—as if trying to get away fast toward a narrow alley. I called out to him, silently, “Look back!” He kept right on going. A wind, whirling down the street, lifted the blond hair Medusa-fashion around his head, a nest of writhing serpents. Beyond, in the black recess of the alley, illuminated by a street lamp, an archaic face appeared to float. From where I stood squinting at it, it seemed to have the features of the god, Apollo! Now, silhouetted by the street light, the young man moved into the alley and merged with this floating face. The wind, dancing like a mad thing, raised spinpoints of dust and bits of paper which spiraled up into the saffron-colored light veiling them—as if a curtain had dropped.
* * *
PREFACE
Clear, softly luminous Greek light bathes his naked body. Droplets of water, glittering like diamonds, course down from a forehead of wet black curls over gold-colored skin and a broad chest fuzzed black, drip further over tendons and muscles of a flat belly into a mound of wiry pubes, damp and pungent with odors of the sea. Eyes, warm and moist, stare at me. I look at his large cock, flaccid now, but swaying slightly with the sifting movement of his legs, its exposed pink head shiny and expanding under my gaze. And my heart leaps—even though we have just had a sexual bacchanal more sensuous than any I’ve experienced.
Muscles trembling, I sink to my knees before this beautiful object. His fingers grip it roughly as I hear a low laugh, then a deep sigh. His hand, placed on the back of my neck, forces my open and waiting lips toward his cock. “Thee mou, thee mou,” my Greek god whispers. His hips shove forward, feet placed firmly in the sand of our secret beach. He sighs again as his fingers stroke my hair. “Thee mou, thee mou!” (”Love me, love me!”)
Sex had always been no more than a release, an exciting interval or necessity soon forgotten. I’ve never fallen in love with a man, never thought I’d feel this way. Now I am amazed to discover I cannot get enough of the delicious body pressed to my face. The sweet tasting shaft slides from my lips. I squat on my haunches, glancing up with admiration from the fuzz of pubes to his amber eyes. Flecked with slivers of black, they look down at me with, I hope, love. As I pray, silently, to Apollo that I am not wrong, I know I am happier than I have ever been before.
But what I do not know is, today will be the only garden, the future barren. I am set for self-destruct!
* * *
Only four years. However, at times, I think it has been an eternity. As I sit here alone on this terrace, my portable typewriter, the bottle, my half-finished glass of retzina ignored, I stare out over the village roofs far below to a glimmer of cerulean blue water, wondering if there is any point in trying to explain the mysterious and terrifying things which happened in Delphi a year ago. Who is left to believe me?
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