The Joracian Mystery

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I visited colony after colony, outpost after outpost, explaining to the Earthlings in each instance the nature of their newfound situation, and launching the work of recovery and restoration with single-minded passion. I soon became quite adept at spotting leadership potential among the evacuees, selecting team leaders to assist in our work. I was always amazed at how quickly they would take to my suggestions, pursuing the path of self-enlightenment and growth—often with a commitment that rivaled my own. Together, we replaced the old ingrained patterns of ideology and timeserving productivity with poetry and a love of discovering the Truth through communal dialogue.

Soon, I took to rewarding my lieutenants with special junkets in the mini-ship. We’d visit the hot tubs and the Temple of Fitness; I was delighted to share the experiences I’d had with new generations. On one occasion, I was in the hot tub with Kirstin, a lanky beauty with blue eyes, sipping hyböls and listening to Bill Evans. I opened one eye and admired Kirstin’s short sandy hair and the fine lilt of her perfect tits, the nipples slightly upturned. She asked me what it was like the first time I went to the Temple of Fitness. I described it for her as well as I could, the erotic quality, the sublime interchanging of body parts. Up to this point I had only allowed one person at a time on our junkets, occupying the others elsewhere. During her first experience, a young demigod named Zoltan, with whom she had shared a hierophany similar to mine, had met Kirstin.

“I wonder,” Kirstin mused, “what it would be like if several of us went in together?” As if suddenly aroused by the mere suggestion, Kirstin pressed close, kissing my lips, and gently giving my swollen knob short rhythmic tugs below the waterline. Aroused, we exited the tub and I lay back, while Kirstin performed an unforgettable cadenza on my skin flute. Without a word, she eased herself down onto my lap with a squishy sigh, wrapping her long legs around my waist, placing her palms down upon my shoulders. I held her face in my hands, felt the coarse locks of her sandy hair in my fingers, and looked into those China blue eyes while we fucked, naturally and unabashedly. “Maybe you could bring some of your Joracian friends, too.” “It might be fun,” I agreed as, clenching, she grabbed me fiercely, her arms encircling my back, holding me tightly as we both started to come…

By the end of my probationary period, Àkbä decided it was time that I became more intimate with the particulars of Joracian Culture. There were a dozen or more fundamental principles investing the Joracian belief-system, all more or less interchangeable and somewhat fuzzy; but the whole thing seemed to be based upon Desire and Confidence, which Joracians possessed in abundance, and all heavily tinged with eroticism. From an early age, Joracians were trained to visualize images of what they desired, as a first step toward bringing the desired object into being. At the same time, Joracians were the least materialistic of all persons I have ever known. “Ownership” was utterly foreign to them; Àkbä, for example, owned little more than the clothes on his back. Marriage was equally unknown to Joracian males and females, who used each other for sexual purposes as the spirit moved them. The individual alone was sacrosanct and inviolate.

Children belonged to the communal society. Joracians held Education, the acquisition of knowledge for its own sake, technical competence and the widening of horizons, to be sacred. “We Joracians are a race of Discoverers,” Àkbä often said, “always seeking new worlds to explore.” Joracians, though they had no family life as such, loved children. When I mentioned to Àkbä that I had never seen any Joracian children, he laughed: “That’s because they’re always away at school.” Joracians viewed all failures and setbacks as opportunities to be seized and transformed by persistence and creativity into resounding successes. “No true Joracian ever fails,” my mentor instructed.

According to Àkbä, Joracians believed desire to be the ultimate core of the universe, identical with energy, and all principles one with that of sexual desire. Yet, a strange asceticism permeated Joracian culture in the form of something called Clej Ameo, which the whole society viewed as more precious than success. It could not be literally translated into English. But listening to Àkbä talk about it, I soon gathered from context that it represented something like an ideal of loyalty or love.

On our next junket, seven of us arrived at the Temple of Fitness, three females and four males. I’d taken Kirstin’s advice and invited Àkbä who surprised me by accepting. Zithôra was there to meet Zoltan and me too; and they had brought many high priests and priestesses. The fog melted our clothes and it was difficult to see anything clearly; at first, I thought I was alone with Zithôra. But gradually I became aware of other flesh pressing in upon us. The priestess had been servicing my lob with sensational skill when I noticed, by a particular trembling of her lips and slight jarring of her head, that someone was pounding her from behind, doggy-style. I felt a sharp pain in my rectum and suddenly realized that I had been penetrated from behind. Before I could protest, Zithôra resumed her attentions to my knob-end with such sublime verve that I momentarily forgot the other sensations—perhaps they merged into a single erotic amphimixis, until pleasure and pain were indistinguishable. I thought someone had pushed her nipple into my mouth—a large nipple—but by the time I saw it was in fact a penis, the kaleidoscopic exchanging and interchanging of body parts had overtaken us. Caught up in a welter of erotic sensations so keen and overwhelming that they displaced all other thoughts, I no longer cared but simply rode along with the buffeting flow of feelings. I didn’t even care whose penis it was.

Several quite bizarre impressions occurred to me during the experience: of being Zithôra, of being Kirstin, of being Àkbä. At one point, though, I had the strangest fantasy: of Zithôra smiling then shoving her face down hard against my chest. I screamed and, when she held her face up to mine, I saw blood dripping from her lips and chin, something caught between her teeth. She had taken a bite out of my flesh; and her eyes gleamed with a strange light…

Afterwards, we gathered outside the fog, all of us exhausted. I was relieved to find no teeth marks of any kind on my chest (it had all just been a mystical experience!). Àkbä announced that he had decided to promote Kirstin on the spot and would be taking her with him, to lend her much-needed skills elsewhere in the Resettlement Program. We all hugged and kissed Kirstin and wished her good luck. Àkbä again praised my work in preparing her and said, “I have to return to the Palace of Justice, where my services are awaited. I leave you to your work, Sam. Good luck!” With that, he was gone; and I was left, once more, to my own devices. No one spoke much; and nothing was said about the group experience. It was just as well. I wasn’t sure I wanted to talk about mine, either.

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