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.

The boy, who has named himself Simon for its familiar intonation, whispers that he would like to swim without his suit. He blushes and drops his head at this confession and Savage is moved almost to tears by his beauty and humility. He encourages Simon to remove his suit and to go dip his body in the water, but the boy is too shy to disrobe before him. Instead he gathers his courage and enters the waves once again, stripping himself naked only beneath the coverlet of the waves.

Savage feels his heart beating fiercely, pounding in his chest, stirring his loins as he squints against the sun's bright rays to catch a glimpse of shapely, muscled arms and firm buttocks rising out of the water as Simon swims. He dips beneath the surface, diving to the bottom before shooting to the surface to rise above the water, leaping into the air with reckless abandon.

He seems, to Savage's eyes, to hang there for a moment. Slim thighs and narrow hips cradle his sex as it nestles in its bed of fur, sparkling with water drops that gather at the head of his shaft and drip down his thigh, skirting fine dark hairs that lay plastered against the skin. He is shaded by his own body, the sunlight hits only his dark hair, wet and clinging to his shoulders and to his chest with its dark button nipples, erect from the cool water's caress.

Then he drops once more into the sea and Savage expels the breath he had been holding. Simon begins to wade toward the shore, his face, still hidden in shadow, seems to hold a tiny smile as he rises further from the waves and they retreat reluctantly from his chest to his belly, then further down, revealing once more his shaft and the soft globes beneath them. When at last they come only to his ankles, he turns and bends to retrieve his bathing suit, lying soggy and neglected in the shallows. The long length of leg sweeping up into the high, muscular buttocks part as he bends, affording short glimpse of the rounded puckered hole that is Savage's ultimate desire, before he straightens and turns again, coming up the beach toward the towels with unquestioned disregard for his former modesty.

The day is hot, the air sultry as Savage attempts to squeeze it into his oxygen starved lungs. He knows the desire he feels is evident in his expression and futilely tries to hide it.

But there is no need, for as Simon approaches him, his shaft begins to swell and thicken, rising up from between his thighs to stand proudly erect, swaying slightly with his walk as it bounces against his hard belly.

He comes and stands before Savage, straddling his legs, suddenly arrogant with evidence of Savage's need. His prick is inches from Savage's face and he longs to lean forward and take it into his mouth and suck on it, but is unsure. Simon strokes his own cock with innocent skill. He takes into his other hand his balls, hanging juicy and plump under his sex, revealed to avid sight with the burgeoning growth of the erection.

Simon caresses himself, blatantly offering his body to Savage. He squats, spreading his thighs wide to straddle the lap beneath him and they kiss with violent passion. Savage handles the proffered body with hard hands, squeezing the heavy sacs hanging down from between Simon's legs with brutal abandon, fingering the sweet tight hole spread so enticingly open by the pose, pinching and biting at the erect nipples, reveling in the taste of salt, sun and sweat.

His need too great for finesse, his preference for violent assault under tenuous control, he rolls Simon to the ground and lifts his legs to the sky. He holds them there in steely grip and forces his rigid cock through the ring of tight muscle into the hot enclosing heat of his channel. He thrusts with all his might, embedding himself deep, withdrawing almost to the tip before ramming himself inside again, ignoring Simon's cries as if they were only the cry of a lone gull, carried aloft on the breeze.

He goes on and on, fucking with violent intensity into the opened anus, measuring his thrusts against his need to prolong the act, as he has taught himself. Simon ceases to cry out with pain and instead murmurs of his gratification. This unexpected enjoyment of the twinned delights of pleasure and pain enchants and ensnares Savage with its innocent delight and he drops onto the taut belly and kisses the parted lips with fervent intensity, growling out his lusts and his false promises as the driving need of his loins spurs him to greater heights.

Simon begs. 'Take me in the water.' he whispers, caressing the rough, unshaven skin of cheek and jaw. They uncouple and rise and Simon draws him by the hand, leading him down to the swelling surf as the late afternoon sun dips below the horizon and the wind whips the waves into eager frenzy.

Led into the thickening waters, Savage once again mounts his conquest, riding him through the rough surf that tries to suck the sand from beneath his bent knees and topple him. Pounding into the tender depths as the waves batter the shoreline in concert with his thrusts.

He is too intent on the gaining of his own pleasure to notice the changes around him. Even were he to see them, he would pay them no heed. Giving no credence to the message of the living world about him, he trusts only in figures and in the science of the laboratory, and believes only in the power of his own will. For one such as Savage, the earth holds no magic.

The gulls have gone. No life stirs upon the private beach bar that which owns it and who mates with brutal tenderness in among the waves and kelp. The wind, too, has died away, yet the surf continues to pound and rise, stirring the sand and seaweed that ties itself about their twined legs as they couple, embraced in the bosom of the sea.

He feels his organ swell inside his lover's heated channel and he knows his time is upon him. His cries of ecstasy echo around the bay as he grasps more firmly the spread thighs and renews his assault, his every sense concentrating on the reaching of fulfillment. He does not notice the waves rising now to his shoulders, the salty spray that tickles the back of his throat as he gasps for breath. Oblivious to even the crabs that nibble at his sacs as they float in the tidal currents, he sees only his own impending orgasm, tantalizingly just beyond his reach and the face of his lover and prisoner, head bent back beneath the waves, his eyes closed in pleasure.

The heat rushes over him, tingling warmth that centers itself in his belly and spreads out through every capillary and muscle, turning them to liquid as it rushes for his loins. He comes in an explosion of color and a blur of movement, the pain does not at first register upon his heightened senses and he realizes too late that his orgasm has not exploded from his shaft, but has imploded, driving seed and salt water up through his body.

His organs dissolve, melted by the salt of the Mother, he pushes himself away, screaming his pain to the sky and the earth as his heart shatters and blood pours from his mouth to cover his chest and belly with treacled death. Simon sits quietly as he suffers in his throes, cradled gently by the same waves that still pound at Savage, pulverizing bone.

No such violence touches him. The waves lap about his chest as he watches, midnight eyes with visions of dying promise embrace the scene with amaranthine calm and his hair floats about his chest and tickles his nipples, giving pleasure and praise for his efforts.

At last it is over. The empty shell that once contained the man Savage, drops forward from its shattered knees into the waves and is cradled in their now calm embrace. The tide washes in, cleaning the body of blood and carrying it away, beneath the surface and out to sea where a watery grave awaits and none shall ever see the tyrant's face again.

Simon stands and watches the velvet veil of a summer's night fall across the ocean. He leaves the water and walks along the beach to the headland. Climbing to the top he reaches the cliff where below the sea is dark and deep, an endless canyon of secrets and promises. He waits patiently for the Mother to rise, the warm breeze, returned now from its flight, smoothes the tangled skeins of hair upon his shoulders and leaves the pale skin dried. It glitters in the light from the rising moon, a beautiful raiment of silica and salt that glows faintly in the starry shine.

The Mother rises and finds herself well pleased. She bathes her son in brilliant cold glow, praising and inviting, welcoming him home. He raises his arms. His shaft rampant in benediction, offers salute and mortal seed again to spill upon the salty grasses. Then he rises to his toes and dives, graceful and straight down into the sea.

Look close as he arrows to the water. See the falsities of his appearance disappear. Drawn back inside the body, the manhood shrinks and vanishes, the deep cove echoes to the unearthly sound that comes from his throat as he spins in the air, joyous, as he celebrates in his achievement of his Mother's will.

He is answered from below, where his brothers and sisters cavort in the waves, awaiting his return. Sexless now, with no memory of his act. All mortal knowledge is drained away as he leaves the world behind and joins them in their endless dance beneath the waves.

But listen not to their trilling song.

It is the requiem of the sea, eternal and unknowable, soft in its seduction, ruthless in its vengeance.

It is the song of the Siren and to heed its alluring melody will lure you to your death.