A gay story: Time and Tide
The moon rises, full blown from beneath the silvery blue of sea and sky and casts Her lambent gaze upon the earth, Her child. No ripples disturb the tranquillity of the endless pool, no clouds stir to cover Her face with veils of gauze, the earth lies beneath, quiet, peacefully awaiting Her command.
Deep below the calm surface the tide rises to answer Her call. Always it has been so. The moon is mother to the world, nurturing and caring with benevolent eye for Her child.
The mortals who walk upon it have forgotten this. The tide and the earth it feeds, never shall.
The tide comes, raising foam in its wake, scattering the pearly fish who slumber in its endless depths. It rises ever higher, approaching the shore with arches of silver and blue and that which is concealed within it prepares to come forth, onto the shore.
A figure steps from beneath the canopy of the wave and gains the beach with graceful ease. Mortal in appearance, this child of the moon, burst full formed from the womb of all creation. It is male.
He stands naked upon the pebbles and shells of tides’ bounty, his arms raised above his head, fists clenched, every muscle taut as he salutes Her.
Human blood infuses his shell, bringing life and hunger to each tendon and sinew, the evidence of his maleness stands erect in relief against the darkness of the trees as the heart swells to plump and fill each crevice of this moonlight creation, defining muscle as it defines purpose.
Dark flags of hair spin about in the evening breeze, eyes the color of the deepest of the oceans look worshipfully skyward. A creation of the ideal, perfect in every way, designed by the vengeful Mother to seduce and trap the unwary and the unworthy.
Knowledge comes, educating and instructing. The purpose of life, the purpose of this life. Filled now with all that he requires, he spills his seed upon the cowrie shells, mortal tribute to the Mother and steps confidently toward the trees, knowing where he is going and what his task will be.
Always there have been such creatures, set forth upon the land to harvest in the name of the Mother. Once, they preyed only upon those who dared venture upon the seas, luring them to death and an eternity of drowned lungs and fish picked bones for their temerity in seeking to conquer the Mother’s child.
Now, the guilty plunder at will and spill their poisons directly into Her bosom and so She sends her children of the waves onto the land, to harvest those who do not approach the cradle of their creation with reverence and respect, but who sit instead in their towers of steel and concrete and order the destruction that offends Her eternal eye.
This one comes to the city and lives as a man would live, with name and work and home in which to sleep. He needs not seek out his enemy, that the enemy will come to him there is no doubt. That which the moon sends to seek will also be sought; it is a sea serpent set down amongst its prey, to beguile and attract with hypnotic sway and lethal beauty.
The enemy comes. A powerful man, with riches and glittering array of possessions. He is as his name suggests, savage. Brutal and beyond reproach, he buys his way, purchases his fancy and ruthlessly brings down any who oppose.
Such power feeds the ego, frees the soul’s depravities and leads to absolute confidence. Confidence that his word is will, that he may do as he wishes without fear of repercussion or vengeance.
So he orders his life to his own desires, this Savage. His mighty factories spew their waste into the sea and sky and no futile attempt to halt him can meet with success. As his profits soar, so do his excesses. He collects objects of beauty and hides them away in his penthouse towers, refusing to share his bounty with the world. He orders death and destruction as easily as he orders his breakfast and with as little care; takes what he pleases and suffers no consequences.
But She has seen. She knows and has set upon the world the means of his destruction.
They meet. The sea creature and the man. Savage owns many things, he owns the building in which the moon child works, cleaning the offices and tending to the systems that make the steel beast function. Savage sees this beautiful vision going about his work and the sight of the man, created full and complete solely to satisfy his every requirement, fills his breast with heady rush of lust and desire to possess.
He is overcome by this need and finds himself distracted from his usual purpose. It fills his thoughts every waking hour, ripping at his innards with viscous intensity, denying him rest. He could steal the boy, have him captured and held, helpless victim with which to toy and pleasure himself. He has done this before. Many of the beautiful objects he has collected have been human, young and male.
Trapped in dungeons of velvet and leather, never missed or paid extravagantly for, these silken skinned youths with their soft mouths and hard bodies, endure his whips and chains with hopeless eye and dead heart that knows and wishes with desolate intensity for the escape only their merciless deaths will give them.
But something has hold of him. Some shifting beast stirs in his heart and decides him against the forceful capture. It tells him instead to woo the lad, to bring him willingly into the dark folds.
Whispers that this would be greater victory, satisfaction of a different kind, dependent only on his own skill and not upon the bone and muscle of his employees. This appeals to the savage one’s immense ego and he commends himself for his inventiveness at discovering a new game to play with his hapless victim.
Never once does he suspect that the beast that rolls and snaps within his breast is that which is called love; She who is the eternal mistress and who has captured more poor souls than he in his wildest imagination could ever hope to conquer.
So he effects an introduction and is further seduced by shy gaze and polite manners. The graceful sway of body hypnotizes and arouses, the endless depths of midnight eyes sparkle promises of delights to come and he is further ensnared.
He takes his heart’s desire to the beach, to frolic in the sea and he observes with wonder how the tiny waves seem to lap about the firm young body as if in embrace and how the sea foam caresses his chest and belly like a lover.
The beach is deserted, only the gulls and wind for company. It is one of his possessions and no other can dare come near it. Before this day, he had never ventured to its shiny shores, came only at the boy’s request; this place holds no allure for one more comfortable in the halls of power and the canyons of concrete and aluminum that are his regular haunt.
But now he sees appeal of the ocean beach, written as it is on the sun kissed features and joyous expression of his companion. He flings himself down beside Savage, a fine coat covers his arms and legs, the soft skin behind the bent knee, the fold where bathing suit meets the flesh of inner thigh, even the nose and cheeks glitter with fragments of shell and sand and he longs to reach over and wipe them away.