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Chapter 35: SAGA

The bear was snapping at the boys’ ankles. The men, alarmed, were in fear of their sons’ lives. Their hearts raced in unison, beating as One, two men in love. The men ran at the bear, tugging huge tree branches behind them with both hands, their bodies turned, low-crotched position, their eyes on high alert, but never taking them from the bear, and their laughing sons, that found it all funny.

If only the men knew what provoked the bear. When the boys saw their fathers kiss behind one of the huge trees, after one father claimed he had to take a leak, and the other claimed he had to do the same thing, so the boys said they had to urinate as well, one son looked at the other, menacingly, and saw a bear about two hundred feet North of the tree.

“Let’s go mess with it!”

“Come on!”

While their fathers groped each other, digging in each other’s pants, wanting to be adventurous, breathing together and all in each other’s faces, kissing and hugging and touching, the boys ran up to the bear and grabbed the honey comb it fasted from, and the bear roared with death in its eyes.

“Come get it!”

“Come on slow bear!”

The bear swung a claw at the of the boy’s faces, and they laughed, running in the direction of their father’s sudden scream, the calling of their names at a level that told them they feared for their lives, the lives of their sons.

“Ђat’ll teach dad to kiss another man when we’re supposed to be on a camping trip together as a family!”

“I second that!” said the other. He was tall and handsome. Clad in khakis and a white t-shirt and Nike Airs, the other dressed exactly like him, the Bella to his Σdward if this was the Twilight §aga.

They didn’t believe in twinkle, twinkle little star. One blow of the branch would knock the bear unconscious, but it would never happen. Ђey had no desire to harm the animal, they loved animals, and in that I would spare the men their lives.

Ђey dodged the bear all together. One of the fathers, the submissive bottom, he called himself on gay websites; saw a honeycomb, the one his son discarded when he realized his father saw him in danger.

He ran over to it, dropping the branch, and he picked up the honeycomb and threw it towards the bear, and the bear left with it, and didn’t look back once.

As an advocate of animals I let this slide, they were boys, kids, and I had no desire to harm them, but they art mortals, so I detest mortals, period.

But I do find them fascinating, adults living in the guise of lies behind wealth and power that influences the world, and the millions of fans that will jump and say how high when a star calls.

Ђe bear wanted to kill them all, only they weren’t aware their lives hung in the balance.

Later that night they sat around a huge camp fire, roasted more marshmallows and told ghost stories, all four of them.

Before the last story was told, by one of the fathers, the boys fell asleep and the men put them in their tent, their pillows below their heads. Both fathers covered them up, together, and kissed the tops of their foreheads, together, and turned to kiss each other before turning out the hanging light and zipping the door up.

A separate tent they were in, the tent, black, and they lived out every sexual fantasy, the ones they never explored they did first, and ones they have explored they saved for last, before laying spent in each other’s arms, awaiting Round Two.

Ђey were classy, kissing each other like the unraveling of poetry, some Robert Frost, to throw one out there; they were elegant, their movements, synchronized, breathing as One, becoming One, vowing to one day marry, and that their body parts belongeth to the other, and not their individual selves, respectfully.

Ђeir love making, at times borderline nasty by all tastes, and I’ll spare ye the intimate details, and to watch it all unfold, as I sat Indian §tyle in the tent with them, was a beauty all it’s on.

Ђey didn’t know death stared them in the face, because they couldn’t tear their eyes from each other. Ђe eyes.

Ђey never looked away from their eyes, as beautiful as their bodies, as lustful goes the dance; they looked in each other’s eyes and made the soul cum with envy.

I was repulsed at the Golden §hower fantasy, urinating on each other and I thought I was going to be sick, even as a vampire I had my limitations, even though I’ve done more vulgar things than that, but I’m rich, so I can do it all I wish; they had money, but what they had was peons to my wealth and net worth.

If any vampire gives me a Golden §hower I will give him a Blood Bath, and use his eyes to wipe myself clean when my blood flows, when it wants to, there is no system to it.

My blood, red inside me, black when it comes out, dead to the world before it even touches my pubic region, inches shy of the gushy opening, an opening that hath seen its fair share of Czars and kings, loving them until I walked away with their empires, inherited through the mortal form with a mortal name, the body I wear, Fionna Drakes, a prisoner and slave in my Palace, but I didn’t beat or mistreat her.

I used her body in many ways, shapes and forms.

Never sexually.

I only wore her when I needed to handle…civilian affairs and that was a rare occurrence.

§ix months ago she was Amanda Daniels.

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