The Storm

I nodded. "It's the tunnel to your womb. But how does the baby get into your womb in the first place?"

She gave the answer she assumed I knew as well as she did. "God plants it there." But even as she spoke she seemed to realize that this answer, learned way back in childhood, was probably something of an oversimplification.

"Have you ever seen a bull mount a cow?"

She didn't answer.

"Come," I said, patting the mattress. "Last night you taught me about the heavenly spheres. Tonight I'll teach you a bit of animal husbandry. It's a topic that a young woman should know something about. Kneel here, on your hands and knees."

I had never actually seen a woman in the mating position before. My companion made a handsome specimen. Her flanks were sleek, her rump full, her breasts hung just noticeably down. My cock perked up even more in animal enthusiasm. I walked her around so that she was presenting her backside to the fire.

"When the female presents herself to her mate, what she is presenting is the entrance to her tunnel." I knew she couldn't see, so I gently traced the plump lips of her cunt with my fingers to let her feel how directly they were being displayed. I softly traced the slit between them too, my cock now fully erect.

"When the male mounts the female, he introduces his member into her tunnel." To illustrate, I knelt close behind her and brought the tip of my cock right up to her beckoning slit. I could better see its inner lining now. It was pink and glistening, the color, in fact, not unlike the rosy color of my own helmet within its leathery sheath. In order for her to better visualize the geometry I nuzzled the pinkness of my helmet against the glistening pinkness of her vestibule, a contact that produced, in me at least, an unexpected animal thrill.

"The male deposits his seed into her womb. This is the conjugal act, the impetus of conception." I sat back on my heels, my cock still as stiff as an iron poker. "This is how the baby is planted into the womb."

She had her neck craned around, trying to see. "Did you deposit a seed just now?"

"No," I assured her. "It wouldn't do to get you with child."

She wrinkled her brow. "But how could that happen?"

"Why, in the way I just described."

"But we're not married. How could I become with child if we're not married?"

Her naivete took me aback, although perhaps I should have anticipated it. "It's the act that bestows the child, not the vow!" I spoke perhaps more sharply than I should have. "Does the bitch take a vow before conceiving her litter? Does the cow take a vow before conceiving her calf?"

She was stung by what she perceived to be the unjust harshness of my response. "But surely we're not animals!"

"But surely we are! Have we not fangs and claws and cocks and cunts? Do we not preen and strut and fart and shit? We may dress ourselves in fancy clothes, but we are certainly animals underneath."

This outburst of misanthropy stung her even more. She looked at me with disbelief. This was not the way I had intended my lesson to go. I sunk back further onto my heels and replaced my hand cautiously on her haunch.

"You're right," I apologized, petting her softly. "You're right. We're not animals. Not really. We do wear fancy clothes. We do profess our vows. We go to chapel and raise our voices in heavenly song. We have the souls of angels."

She settled herself down on the mattress and turned to better see my face, lying on her side, curling toward me like a kitten.

"But we're not really angels either. Not fully. We're something in between. We have the souls of angels, but we carry them in the bodies of apes."

She was still not sure what to make of what I was saying, but she attended to it as if it were worthy of attention.

I settled down on the mattress beside her. "There's one more thing that you should know. When a girl is born, God seals her womb with a special flap of skin. That seal serves as the proof of her innocence. On her wedding night her husband breaks the seal and claims her for his own."

She was looking deeply into my eyes, but what she was seeing were the thoughts that my words were painting in her mind. "The seal is broken by the conjugal act," she said, quietly.

I nodded.

Her eyes re-focused. "But then . . ."

"It's deeper in," I assured her. "The breaking will be marked by pain and blood. Your husband will find you still intact."

Her eyes focused back to the strands of thought that were weaving themselves together in her mind. She may have imagined before what it would be like one day to carry a baby within her belly. But she had probably never imagined that men would one day have such intimate dealings with her most private parts. Deeper in!

My cock was lying stiffly between us like an overlooked instructional aid. She noticed it and touched it, idly, still lost in thought. She gingerly assessed its stiffness, its softness, its thickness, its length. She noticed the retractability of the foreskin. She snuck a peek at the glistening pink organ within, glancing up at me to register her surprise. She was shy to touch the helmet directly, but she allowed herself to palpate it through the sheath.

My spine purred to see her so kittenishly absorbed. And my cock purred to feel itself so kittenishly caressed. And then it erupted, in a spasm of animal astonishment, discharging its milky emission onto the mattress. She drew her hand away, as surprised as I was. She looked up at me in dismay.

"It's not piss," I told her. "It's seed."

She looked back down at the puddle. "It's wet."

"It's a slurry, I suppose. A vinaigrette. To carry the seed where it needs to go."

She kept looking, thoughtfully, trying to merge all these new concepts into a coherent understanding. Where it needs to go. Deeper in.

I got up and fetched the blanket to wipe the stain.

"Listen," she said.

The rain had stopped.

I put the blanket back on the shelf and went to the door to take a look outside. It was dark, but there was a tiny glimmer of moonlight. The eaves were still dripping, but the wide puddles in the yard stood unrippled. The night was wide and fresh and pleasantly cool.

My companion came and stood in the doorway beside me. The coldness, though delicious, was tangy and tart. She leant her body against mine. I put my arm around her. We looked out together into the night. The hillside took up much of our view, but there was one little patch of cloudless sky, and in it a single star.

"Your little ox's first star," she said. "Shall we make a wish for him?"

I remembered how he had looked up at me with such sincere curiosity and such unbounded optimism. I made a wish that those traits would continue to serve him well. My companion pressed herself a little more closely against my side. I tightened my hug and made the same wish for her.

We closed the door. We re-arranged the soggy clothes. We got back into bed and pulled the comforter up over us.

"It's not that I'm opposed to marriage," she said. "It's just that I'd like to have some say. The right man, . . . strong, . . . kind-hearted, . . . young enough . . ."

She rolled onto her side to face me more directly. "And what about you? Wouldn't you like to have a pretty wife to live here with you, to sweep the floor and tend the cabbages and look after all the little children in the yard?"

"And teach them to dance like planets across the sky?" I asked.

Her eyes met mine. Then she rolled away and looked up at the ceiling. "But don't you think that a man and a woman could live happily here? That this . . . coziness might be all that they would ever need?"

She rolled back, her eyes ablaze. "Let's pretend that we're that couple, shall we? Just for tonight? That you're my handsome husband and I'm your pretty wife, and that we live here in this cozy cottage in the heart of the forest, tending our cabbages and looking after the beasts and awaiting the day when our first little planet will poke his head above the horizon and look around himself in wonder. Oh, let's!

"Let's pretend we've come to the end of our day and we're lying here in our cozy bed talking about the garden and the oxen and the hawks and the deer, and picking out names for each of our precious little planets-to-be, and telling each other how happy we are as we fall asleep in each other's loving arms."

It was a childish game perhaps, too childish perhaps for a seasoned woodsman, but she cuddled close along my side, and I put my arm around her and gathered her closer still. Like two logs enkindling in the hearth, like two helpmates looking out into the night. She told me her day, and I told her mine, and although the events we told were make-believe the happiness we shared was not.

I got up several times during the night to tend the fire. And each time I got back into bed I found her warmth and her softness gently waiting.

—

The dawn broke hopeful and bright. There was water standing in the yard, but not a cloud in the sky. The morning was brisk, but the birds were already welcoming the sun's rays back to the tops of the trees. I stirred the fire. Our clothes were almost dry.

"Good morning, my industrious husband," my companion yawned from the bed. She stretched and reached out her arms toward me. "Come and kiss your lazy wife."

"We will have no laziness in this household," I teased. But I knelt on the bed and let her put her arms around me and draw me down to her.

She gave me a dozen little kisses, on my cheeks, on my lips, on my eyes, on my forehead. "There," she said. "Is that not the way that an industrious wife should start her day, by kissing her handsome husband?"

I leaned down and returned her kisses, kiss for kiss, on her cheeks, on her lips, on her eyes, on her forehead. She cooed and giggled to receive them. "Up with you now," I chided. "There is work to be done."

I knelt up, but my cock was up now too, yearning in her direction. She grasped it playfully. "The planting of our little planets then?" she coyly asked. "Is that the work we must be about?"

"We're out of provisions," I told her. "I must go back to the village, and I would counsel you to come along. I fear that the river is still impassable. But there's a path from the village that intersects the high road. It's the more reliable route to the west, anyway, the route you probably should have taken in the first place."

She was less interested in my agenda, though, than in my appendage. She was examining it carefully with both hands now, burnishing here, inspecting there. Finally, she looked shyly up at me.

"Here is an observation for your seminar. It turns out that a woman's cunt has an animal spirit too. It's not as rambunctious as yours. Sometimes it only whispers. But it lets its mistress know what it wants."

My cock somehow had known that all along. "And what does it want?"

"The same as yours, I think. To be claimed. To be loved."

She gave my cock a parting caress. Then she let it go and uncovered herself to the morning sunshine. She stretched her lithe body in its golden rays. Then she lay back and watched me gaze at her lovely breasts and her lovely thighs.

"Don't you see?" she asked.

I raised my eyes back up to her face.

"I ran away to seek my fortune," she said. "And whom did I find?"

"You came here to the forest to care for God's creatures," she said. "And whom did you find?"

"Don't you see?" she asked again. "The storm was sent as a sign to us both. I need a husband. You need a wife. The storm has brought us together."

It wasn't that I was opposed to marriage either. I just had never yet given it that much serious thought. I had always assumed that, like so many things in life, it would happen when the time was right. Was this the time? Was this the one?

She reached up and wove her fingers into mine. "Last night we played a pretty game," she said. "But it doesn't have to be a game."

She pulled me closer, a look of yearning in her eyes. "Last night we saw how cozy life can be."

She parted her legs. The entrance of her tunnel was pink and glistening. My cock throbbed with animal zeal. She pulled me closer still.

"Stake your claim!" she whispered. "Break my seal!"

My whole body trembled with animal zeal. But my inner angel was struggling too and finally made himself be heard. With superhuman effort I lifted myself from her embrace.

"Gentle traveler,"—her nipples were as red and raw as her entrance—"there is merit in what you propose. Indeed, there is considerable attraction." Her face, her eyes were red and raw with passion too. "But let us not be precipitous. Let us not fail to consider that there are reasons why things are done the way they're done. If we are to proceed along this path, let us proceed in the prescribed manner."

Her face wrinkled as she tried to parse my blather. "And are we to proceed? Will you have me?"

"I will, if you will have me."

She sat up and wrapped her arms around me, pressing her pointed breasts against my chest. "Yes, yes, yes!" she cried. "Yes, yes, yes!"

I found myself returning her embrace, clasping her tightly in my arms. I was overwhelmed by the palpability of affection I felt beating there. I was astonished by the quickness with which her little game had lost all trappings of childish naivete. But a woodsmen acts decisively when decisive action is called for.

"We will go to the village," I told her. "We will make our vows in the chapel there. We will ask the priest his blessing. Ah, and there are other blessings we must ask as well. My mother, I'm sure, will delight in our happiness and love you like a daughter. And your father, we must go and ask his blessing too."

But at the mention of her father she went slack in my arms. It was sad that such discord had arisen between them, but I could not believe that it was irreparable. I could not but believe that a father would want his daughter to be happy, and I could not but believe that a daughter would benefit from her father's benediction.

"I am no burgher," I said, tightening my grasp, "but I am an honest man and I earn an honest living. If we tell him sincerely of our mutual affection, of our plans and aspirations, won't he hear us out?"

Her body remained slack. "I've run away from him. I'm not sure what he will do. Let us travel on to Bohemia if we must, but let us not turn back."

Still, though, I could not believe that that was our only course. "Is he really such an ogre?"

She could not bring herself to answer in words. She got up from the bed and went to her knapsack. She took out a small bundle and unwrapped a delicate silver chain. She fastened the chain around her neck and turned toward me, her eyes averted.

Hanging from the chain, at the base of her throat, was a pendant of black stone. And inlaid in the pendant was the golden figure of a mighty bull ur ox. The ox was standing in profile, his head tossed proudly back, his majestic horns brandished for all the world to see.

It was the King's royal seal, the seal of the royal household. She let her eyes meet mine. Her father was no mere town merchant; he was the King himself. She was not a merchant's daughter; she was the princess Ludmilla, the younger daughter of my lord and liege.

I had seen her once before—how many years had it been?—at the funeral of her mother, our late beloved Queen. She had been no more than a girl then. She and her sister had carried themselves so bravely that day. There had not been a single tear in all the kingdom left unshed. I could remember her so clearly. I could see now that it was surely her: the same golden tresses, the same royal countenance.

And now she was standing nude in this rough shelter before a humble woodsman whom she somehow imagined could be part of her happily-ever-after. My heart went out to her, my motley traveler, my cozy bedfellow, my fairy-tale princess.

At least now my duty was clear. I turned and began to gather up her clothes.

"We will travel on then?" she asked.

"Gentle traveler,"—I could not bring myself to use her proper title—"your father is a good man. He is not as good perhaps at raising daughters as he is at other things, but he has a kind heart, and I cannot but think that he must be very worried by your disappearance. Let us take you back to him."

"To ask his blessing? I fear he will not give it."

"To return you safely to him."

At this reply her cheeks flushed and her eyebrows narrowed. "But you told me you would have me."

"That was before I knew who you were. Before I knew I could not have you."

Her anger flared. She tried to subdue it. "The woman you held in your arms last night, that is who I am. The woman who offers you her seal even now, that is who you shall have."

"Gentle traveler. You know as well as I that just as there are laws that govern the movement of the planets, there are laws that govern the mingling of men. Princesses and woodsmen abide in different spheres. Their orbits do not intercept."

She held up her hands as if their mere presence were evidence to the contrary. "We have intercepted! A province has been laid to waste!"

She tried to compose herself. "Gentle warden," she said, "I'm not a princess anymore. Or maybe I am, I don't know. It doesn't matter. The rules that govern those things were made by men, and men can always bend them to suit their purposes."

I had no way of knowing if this was just another part of her fairy tale. I turned away and continued to gather the clothes.

She grasped my arm and spun me back. "Let us go then. Let us go and ask him. And if he gives us his blessing, then we will have it. And if he does not, then we will not. But either way I will be at your side, and you will be at mine."

I took a step backward. But she came to me, ignoring my frustration, ignoring my uncertainty. She meekly clasped my shoulders. She rested her head against my chest.

"I ran away from all I had to seek my fortune," she said. "Now you must stand up and claim yours."

—

The path was muddy, but not impassable. The storm had left more brush to clear, another day's worth at least. We passed the tree where she had been sitting. We passed the little meadow where I had seen the calf.

We came upon a large puddle that blocked the way. There was a strange feeling that we were not alone. Ludmilla turned her eyes toward the trees. There, not thirty feet off, watching us, as silent as the forest, stood the little ur calf and his mother. He had learned a bit of patience it seemed in his first two nights on the planet. But he could not disguise his delight at seeing us, nor his pride at having us see him now standing on his own four legs.

The silence was broken by a deep, sonorous bellow. The calf looked up, his pride swelling to bursting. His mother looked up too. We turned and saw on the hillside behind us the mighty ur ox himself, his majestic horns as long and as thick as a blacksmith's outstretched arms. He raised his massive head and snorted, twice, wreathing his muzzle in steam. Then he turned and stepped his way up the green hillside.

Ludmilla touched the pendant at her neck. Then she took my hand. We edged our way around the puddle and headed on hopefully toward the future.