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@ 27.055 MHz: Ad Astra; Caredig, The Adolescent [*] Slave
Prejudiced haters (what other kind is exists?) suggest that
slaves gives their affections falsely, and their bodies
promiscuously. Poet, you purchased Caredig for a handsome
total of gold; handsome, perhaps, but nearly as beautiful as
he is. Homophobic thugs, some of them criminally violent,
cannot gain access---by admission or otherwise---to the
property that is your farm, so Caredig is safe from their
lusts that are expressed as homicidal hatred. in Caredig's
veins flow the bloodlines of Ethiopia and Wales, Egypt and
Akhaia. His long hair has been braided into locks that he,
himself, call "dreads," for any lover of beauty would surely
dread to unravel such an artifice of beauty. His supple
limbs have been meant, you believe, for the expression of
poetry through dance. Right now, he is naked and barefoot
(later, when you offer him the gift of sheer silk stockings,
tinted yellow, and perfectly translucent except at the
heels and toes, he will cherish them with the utmost gratitude).
No old fashioned, and condemnatory disapprovals----from
your family, peers, or those who work the land of your farm---
can now obstruct your eagerness as, nearly naked yourself, you
kneed before Caredig. His adolescent beauty is in its full
flowering; his tumescence bobs gently to the rhythm of his
pulse. You take it into your mouth as his body shudders and
further stiffens with a surge of pleasure; and, as the most
erotic moan sounds from his slender throat, he releases his
sweetness on to your tongue, and the taste of it is far
finer, and (seems to you) more nourishing, than the
flavors of which beekeepers and vintners repeatedly dream.
J-Called
