Goldfinch

Goldfinch Chapter 3

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

GOLDFINCH

by Andrej Koymasky © 2018
written on April 3, 1986
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by
Tom (chap. 1 to 4) and by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)

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PART ONE
THIRD CHAPTER

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Kutkhay stood waiting near the old thunderbolt-split tree for a while, where he had laid his bow and his arrows along with the prey he had killed. He was waiting for his woman. He looked toward the village, watching for her, on his guard to make sure nobody else approached. He was nervous. He felt as if this was yet another trial, as important to his future life as the all the others.

Hearing the call of a kingfisher, Kutkhay imitated it and the bird answered. For a while the boy enjoyed imitating the bird's trills, then his attention was attracted by another sound. He heard a distant roar, the bellowing of a moose. By instinct he tensed, heartened by the prospect of taking after it, and tried to determine how far away it was; then he remembered his obligation to wait for his woman, and resignedly, then impatiently, he looked again through the trees toward the village. Why hadn't she shown up yet? What could be keeping her?

He sat beside his bow, gazing with wonderment at its perfect graceful shape. A new sound alerted him; somebody approached. He watched carefully until he recognized the petite delicate form of his woman clambering up toward the tree. She spotted him still at a distance and waved a happy greeting as she continued the uphill climb.

Kutkhay's nervousness returned. He felt his body tense. Would he be able to do his duty? Would he enjoy it? Would she? Was he supposed to undress her or...

The girl stopped three paces in front of him. "Here I am," she said simply.

Kutkhay stood up awkwardly. "Is this spot all right?"

She pointed with an embarrassed little giggle. "Let's go there where the thicket will hide us."

The boy nodded and followed behind her. Here, a few steps away, Kutkhay realized that, once they lay down, no one would be able to see them unless they came really close. He looked at the girl, musing that her breasts were rather small.

She shyly smiled. "Put down your bow..."

He did, and she walked right up to him. Then with a simple gesture, she untied his loincloth, letting it fall to the ground.

She looked at him. "Oh... you have a fine physique." Then she untied her apron, becoming naked in front of him for the first time.

Kutkhay slowly looked at her from head to toe. She wasn't bad at all, for a woman; her body was lean and slim, with only a few slight curves. She lay down on her apron and said with an innocence in her little voice, "Come..."

Kutkhay leaned down to her. She caressed him tentatively. Little by little a timid erection arose and she seemed delighted. She caressed it for a long while with both hands until it was fully erect. Mokoa would have accomplished that in a moment, the boy thought. He lay against the length of her body and made his first attempt to penetrate her. It was awkward for a few long moments and it seemed he wasn't going to succeed, but at last, with her help, he entered her. She uttered a little cry and shut her eyes tightly, but soon she was encouraging him with a smile.

Kutkhay fulfilled his duty with enough honor. It was rather enjoyable after all, even if less so than he had hoped. Only by closing his eyes and fantasizing it was Mokoa lying here with him instead of this girl was he able to get aroused enough to reach his orgasm. Mokoa doesn't have the unseemly breasts; his chest is much more beautiful... and his genitals, magnificent, thought Kutkhay, somewhat perplexed.

They stood up to dress. The girl thanked him with a deep blush. He felt peculiar. Anyway, at least he carried out his duty. They planned the next assignation, bid each other farewell, and parted.

The boy resumed his hunt. He still had to bring down another prey for his woman's parents. Being alone again gave him a sense of liberation. He loved wandering in the woods. By evening he returned to the village with several small but worthy prizes. He presented the ritual gift to his in-laws-to-be and brought the rest home. He saw the women repairing fishing nets while the oldest men of the tribe took care of fishing lines, harpoons and other implements.

He and his oldest brother carried shingles to the their house at the summer village. His father and Tumchey were already there, and other men, restoring their roofs. He worked with them diligently, while not far away, others worked at preparing boats. Soon it would be the season of the great fishing. Kutkhay could see Mokoa working on one of the huge canoes with his father, watching the muscles of his exquisite body flexing with the exertion of his labor. With his recently acquired loincloth in place, he really didn't have to worry too much about the effect this vision was having on him. He wished he could have been working with him, just to be near him, but everyone, by tradition, had their designated tasks. It had always been this way. Only the children could meddle anywhere unrestrained. And only they could stay away whenever they wanted. But he was an adult now and for the first time he had to heed these rules.

As night began to fall they went back to the village, following another tradition: singing heartily about their return from work. It served as a signal to the women to finish preparing the meal. Moments before the group reached the point where they split up, Mokoa moved up to Kutkhay. He spoke softly, careful not to be overheard. "Are you coming to bathe, tonight?"

"When?" Kutkhay asked, not hiding his eagerness.

"I'll give the cry of the owl, two times, then three, then one."

"Yes. I will come," the boy replied quickly, and quickly resumed singing.

After the meal, many of the men sat outside, talking about some of that day's events and the way their work was going. In time new small knots of these discussions formed, where some were standing, and others went to sit in front of other houses to join in whatever conversations were going on there. They were endless dialogs. For a while Kutkhay participated, but when he found an opportunity to slip away, he set off toward the woods, craving some time for solitude. He could still hear the men's voices, though no longer clearly, and occasionally an outburst of laughter. He could also still see the houses in the light of the evening fires and the glowing dots from the lanterns and torches. This was when the women would be putting the children to sleep, after which they too would gather to talk, except they would assemble around the fires within the houses.

Deeper into the night a mild breeze came in from the sea. Little by little the fires went out. At last, from somewhere in the darkness, came the call of an owl. The signal! Kutkhay skirted the village to get to the shore. He looked around, peering through the darkness, but couldn't see anyone. This was disconcerting, and he began to ask himself if he was mistaken about the signal, that it could have been a real owl's call, but then the familiar voice called to him from the ocean. "Kutkhay ... out here."

He sharpened his eyes and caught a glimpse of his friend going under the water. He quickly dropped his loincloth, anchored it with a stone, and ran into the sea, splashing exuberantly. He dove under, re-emerging near his friend. For some minutes they splashed each other playfully, neither of them speaking, but gradually the playing ended. The water came up almost to Mokoa's shoulders; Kutkhay bent at the knees, compensating for his uncommon height. The ocean embraced them.

"How are you, brother?" Mokoa asked, his eyes shining.

"Fine, now that I'm with you."

"Did you meet with your woman?"

"Yes, today."

"How is she?"

Kutkhay didn't know how to answer, and hesitated, thinking. Finally: "Um-m, a woman."

"Is she good at it?"

"Well, I can't complain."

"You don't seem very enthusiastic, brother," Mokoa grinned.

Kutkhay felt a little embarrassed and didn't really know what else to say. Mokoa filled the silent void. "I too have fucked my woman. Yesterday."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't you want to know how it was?"

"Yes, of course." Kutkhay lied.

Mokoa didn't continue right away. Then, his voice low, confidential, "With you I really love it so much, you know?"

Timidly, Kutkhay asked, "More than...?" and held his breath.

"Probably not more, but you and I haven't really done very much. We could change that, don't you think?" Then, without waiting for an answer, he said with a note of eagerness, "Let's get out of the water."

They were back on the beach. Mokoa picked up his loincloth but he didn't put it around his waist. Instead he threw it over his shoulder with a casual attitude. Kutkhay found his own and did the same. They climbed the rocks to a place where they were out of sight of the village. Mokoa lay on his side and looked at his friend, smiling. "Come here, brother. I want to play with you."

Kutkhay lay facing him. They looked into each other's eyes silently for a long moment, their cocks, untouched, becoming aroused. With silent acknowledgment of this, they began lightly stroking the naked skin of the body before them. Their eyes shone like stars. Their bodies came together more intimately, searching each other...

When they returned to the village both were enraptured by a new happiness. Kutkhay realized he had been right. With Mokoa it was much better. He was certainly more adroit than his woman, and infinitely more enjoyable. His beloved friend had offered himself to him, saying, "Do to me as at the initiation... Take me..."

And Kutkhay had leaned into him from behind without saying a word. At first he had a little trouble entering, until his friend guided him with one hand. And then at last he slipped into him. The interlude brought them to heights of ecstasy. Oh, how much Kutkhay loved holding Mokoa's beautiful body, so hard and smooth. He made love to his friend with an unexpected exuberance, tempered considerably by his natural tenderness.

At the first houses of the village, Mokoa turned him. "Sleep well, brother."

"Definitely. You too. Will we get together again like this?"

"Yes, and I hope soon. It was really beautiful, with you. More than I can say. But we have to be careful. Nobody must suspect anything. It has to be our secret."

"Our splendid secret, Mokoa, my dearest brother," the boy whispered to his friend wearing a contented smile.

They separated, returning to their own houses. Tumchey still sat outside the door with two other young men, talking in low voices. Everyone else had already withdrawn to their sleeping pads. Kutkhay went inside and lay down in his corner. He didn't fall asleep right away though. His mind was full of the two carnal experiences he had had that day, and he couldn't help comparing them. But there was no real comparison to be made. "It's a pity two men cannot marry," the boy thought as sleep finally came.

Over the following days, he stole off several times with his woman, and rather often with his Mokoa, who offered himself to him with growing enthusiasm. When he was with his woman, Kutkhay closed his eyes and imagined it was his friend under him; his friend whose intimate opening was warmer and tighter, and whose naked body was harder and more provocative. While he thrust in and out of him, he could manipulate and caress his cock; with his woman this erotic sensation was left wanting.

The day arrived for the tribe's removal to the summer village. After the ceremony of thanks was performed for the spirits of the winter grounds, they proceeded to the summer village and performed rites of conciliation there. In several trips all the household articles were carried. Everybody worked together in the enterprise - the men and women, the elders, the children. It took almost the full day to re-establish themselves. Only the wall sidings remained to be transferred, so on that first night they slept under roofs supported by skeletal structures. The weather was mild, as the shaman had forecast. The next day the old house walls were dismantled and reassembled at the summer grounds.

At last it was nightfall again, and Kutkhay could meet his friend once more. They were too close to the village now to meet at their rocky hideaway. So they chose to swim far out into the bay to a rocky array of small sea stacks, to one they had explored earlier. Here they could climb over to the side facing out to sea, where even in the light of a full moon they would be unseen by any potential eyes back at the village. In returning they would have to swim in from different directions and re-enter the village separately.

Once they were together again, they immediately lay down in an eager embrace, trembling with desire, and began making love. Kutkhay loved looking at his friend's beautiful body, to see it now wet and glistening under the pale rays of the moon, to watch him shudder with the pleasurable sensations that flowed through them both as he stabbed his throbbing member into him again and again, while they abandoned themselves to their passion.

When they came back down from the heights of orgasm, Mokoa murmured, "Kutkhay, you are indeed the best of all for making love, you know?"

The boy felt a sharp pang. "Sure. But you still go with others, right?"

"Yes, I told you, with two others. But you are the one I prefer."

It pleased Kutkhay to hear this, but at the same time it pained him. "I hoped to be the only one who..."

"But you know there are the others."

"Who are they?"

"I cannot tell you, I swore to keep the secret."

"But... did you tell them about me?"

"No, this is our secret, remember?"

Kutkhay was lying on his back, looking at the twinkling stars and wondering why Mokoa didn't desire only him. He wanted to make such a request of him, but felt that if he asked... no, Mokoa was of superior rank. He could expect nothing. A sadness came over him.

Mokoa propped himself up on an arm and looked carefully at him. "What is it, brother?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

"That isn't true. I can see it in your face."

Kutkhay sat looking at his friend and was about to pour out his heart, when something beyond Mokoa's shoulder caught his attention. In the dark void of the sea there appeared a pinpoint of light that vanished and reappeared once more. It was as if a pale little star had fallen upon the waves and was just floating there on the ocean's surface. Pointing it out for his friend, his voice broke with excitement as he whispered, "Look, there... what is that?"

Mokoa turned to see. After another moment the light appeared again and Mokoa in turn whispered, "A light... in the middle of the sea...?" They watched the blinking light silently for a long time. Then Mokoa spoke again. "The big boat?"

Kutkhay eyes brightened. "Yes, it could be! Let's hurry back to the village. We must alert the others."

Forgetting their scheme to be cautious, the two boys hurriedly dove into the water and raced for the shore. They quickly donned their loincloths and ran into the village, shouting at the top of their voices, "The big boat! The big boat! Come out everybody! Hurry, come out!"

In just moments almost the whole village was a-stir, some few with sleep still in their eyes, some still naked, and the air was full of murmured questions, all asking essentially the same thing: "Where?" The two boys pointing toward that tiny glowing pinpoint was like a signal, for the tribe moved en masse to the promontory, and they were able finally to see for themselves the faint, flickering light upon the black water. The shaman confirmed it. "It is so, they are back."

The village chief decreed a great bonfire was to be lit at once atop the highest point of the promontory. The village was now not merely awake; indeed spontaneously a great revelry burst forth. The sound of drums rang out into the night, while food and drink materialized, and the old people, for the umpteenth time, retold all they remembered of the previous visits of the strangers from the sea. Kutkhay stood at the end of the promontory and watched the tiny dot of light, deeply moved. And it was he, first, to discover it. "How long before they arrive?" he asked himself.

The night passed in song and dance, and in old people's tales and in youths' incessant questions. Sleepy children dangled from their mothers' or sisters' arms by the time first light behind the mountains heralded the dawn. The distant tiny light that had animated the village disappeared, but now it was possible to discern a tiny dark speck upon the waves, far into the west. The fading fire was restored and a great deal of grass was added, creating a column of smoke, a bold marker in the sky. The dark oceangoing speck slowly grew into the mighty ship as it drew nearer. Kutkhay's fatigue was great but his anxious curiosity was greater. He had remained standing all night long, watching, waiting.

Distinct parts of the ship became clear as it neared. The massive sails were full with the captured wind, aglow in the early morning light, and pushing this fantastic thing straight for their bay. Kutkhay was breathless. It was huge, stately, and more wonderful than the fantasy of his imagination. The figures of men moving on the deck, tiny at such a great distance, became visible. As it reached the mouth of the bay, he watched the ship tack, and soon after its sails were hauled down and the anchor cast. Now he could clearly see the men on board nimbly climbing the rigging and furling the sails. Two small boats were lowered and some men climbed into them and headed towards the shore.

All the people ran to where the landing would take place on the shore, where the chief was on his finely crafted stool, surrounded by the elders seated on theirs, and of course, all in ceremonial attire. When the boats were beached, the strangers came to the huge crescent shaped crowd of the entire tribe. An impressive looking man approached, all covered in white and blue garments, and with a strange headpiece decorated with flowing white feathers. Beside him was another man. All the others of the landing party followed, each carrying peculiar, shiny sticks, all identical. The man accompanying this chief spoke their language in a strong and clear voice, if with some mistakes and a rather funny accent. When he gave the ritual greeting to the tribal chief, the shaman answered in a strange language different even from the secret language of men. The chief of the strangers seemed quite surprised at this. There was a short dialog, and then he signaled to two of his men from behind him. They placed a large chest at the feet of the village chief and opened it. It was full of beautiful shining and sparkling things, and when those close enough saw them a spontaneous gasp rose up.

The shaman explained that the strangers would be among them for a short time. They required fresh water and game, and a supply of produce, in order to continue their journey. The chief proclaimed to his people that some of them were to assist the strangers, and Kutkhay was one of the first to volunteer.

When the formalities ended, the chief of the strangers remained ashore with his interpreter and two others. The rest went back to the ship, eventually returning to shore with empty barrels in their boats. Meanwhile the chief ordered a great banquet to be prepared to honor the strangers. When the men from the ship came back with the first barrels, Kutkhay and the other volunteers led them to the spring, using their own vessels to fill them. Kutkhay studied the strangers as he worked. Their strange garments were long and bulky, hiding their bodies quite completely. Only their heads and their hands were exposed, and he saw that their skin was even paler than his own. Their hair was a variety of colors and textures, some having straight hair, some wavy, others curly. This was completely unlike the inhabitants of his own territory, who all had only one kind: black, straight hair. Kutkhay of course was the lone exception, and his was different only in its gentle wave and almost imperceptibly lighter shade.

"They are my people also!" he thought with a curious pride. He wanted to talk with these foreigners, to ask countless questions, to visit the huge ship moored on the open sea, to see if they knew of his real father. But their strange language was an insurmountable barrier. Kutkhay might have spoken through the interpreter, but that prospect took more courage than he could summon.

When a barrel was full, four of the foreigners lifted it by poles affixed to its sides, and carried it to one of the boats. Even these smaller boats were impressive; wide, much wider than even their largest canoes, and solidly crafted. They exchanged the full barrel for an empty one and started back to the spring. Several men of the tribe formed a hunting party and quickly departed. Women gathered herbs and fruit in wide baskets. The entire village swarmed in a fervor of activity, all for the benefit of the men from the sea.

Kutkhay tried to absorb everything about the newcomers. Outside the village chief's house sat the chief of the strangers, whose clothing bore golden decorations that glittered in the sun. These were surely a powerful people, if their chief were so impressive and formidable looking. The shining sticks that many of these men kept with them, usually hanging from their shoulders, were an immense curiosity once one of the old men explained to him that they were the actual thunder-sticks he had been told about so often.

The women and girls could only chuckle and wonder when they realized the staring strangers seemed quite fascinated by their bare breasts, while Kutkhay wondered to himself why they covered so completely their own bodies. Could they be so ugly underneath, and ashamed? Or did they perhaps feel cold? It just seemed so unnatural to not go about undressed. To Kutkhay it was annoying even to wear just his loincloth.

However, a little later he did see one of the sailors with his chest bare. It was a broad, massive chest, uniquely beautiful as it was, covered by thick hair at the center. None of the men of the village had much, if any, hair on his chest. Would all the strangers be so hairy? With this thought the boy surveyed the strangers within his view. He spotted a young sailor pulling the clothing from his upper body who had a fine chest also, but completely smooth. These two strangers were so different from each it was hard to reckon that they were of to the same tribe.

When the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the village chief called for the great banquet honoring the strangers to begin. Everyone took their place according to rank and age-class. A young sailor with a friendly face sat near Kutkhay, and spoke to him in his foreign tongue. "I don't understand," was all Kutkhay could reply, and the regret was obvious in his voice.

The sailor repeated the same odd sounds; at the lost look he received from the boy, he shouted something across to the interpreter who in turn called out to the boy, "He wants to know your name."

The boy nodded, then looking at the sailor and pointing himself, spoke slowly. "I am Kutkhay."

The sailor, mangling it a little, repeated, "Ayem-koot-kaih?"

The boy laughed. "No, no, just Kutkhay!"

"Nonnou-jask-oot-kaih?"

The boy shook his head, smiling, then on an impulse took off his prized necklace of pink shells and put it around the sailor's neck. The youth looked at it admiringly and spoke again, then, as if remembering something, brought out from somewhere in his peculiar garb a small bright box. He held it out to him. The boy looked at the object, recognizing right away that it was made from the same shiny substance as his knife, and of the thunder-sticks. It was carved in very fine detail. He opened it and saw it held two small white cubes with round black spots on every side. The sailor pointed to them and spoke more foreign words, strange sounds which Kutkhay did his best to repeat. Then he closed the box, raised it towards the sailor to thank him, and slipped it into the band of his loincloth near the precious little knife he was never without.

The hunters returned in the evening with a vast bounty, game that was loaded immediately onto the boats and brought to the ship. The laborious task of replenishing the water supply was also finished. In time a dance was performed for the guests, followed by a second enormous meal full of ceremony. Kutkhay showed his gift to the interpreter and asked him to explain its purpose or meaning. The man removed the two dice from its splendid box, explained how to read the numbers, and demonstrated how they were played.

Kutkhay was excited to learn this strange game and went looking for Mokoa. He showed him this new treasure and explained the game.

Mokoa asked, "What happens if I make numbers higher than my opponent?"

"You win."

"I win? Excellent! But who do I win?"

"Nobody. You just win and that's all."

"But what is the sense if I don't win the other. It is a pointless game." This dampened Kutkhay's enthusiasm briefly, but his smile returned when Mokoa continued, "Anyway it is a fine gift, and doubtless a valuable one."

It was late that night when the strangers returned to their ship and the village was finally still. The next morning the strangers loaded the fruit and vegetables. The farewell was formal, then the strangers boarded, and the ship weighed anchor. The ship's sails unfurled, and with grace and majesty it glided away to the north. The entire village gathered at the promontory, waving their arms in farewell in a markedly less formal manner until the ship vanished over the horizon. The village resumed its normal rhythm before too many days had passed, but the ship's visit had aroused a considerable response, especially amongst the youth, and for some time afterward was the predominant topic of all their conversations.

Soon after the ship's departure, Kutkhay went to the shaman. The usual greetings exchanged and dispensed with, Kutkhay quickly came to the point. He expressed how he would have loved to learn the language of the strangers.

The shaman didn't respond at once, instead staring at him for a long while. Finally he said, "It is your father's blood speaking in you. He wishes you to understand his language. This is natural."

Kutkhay looked at the shaman in shock, "You mean... you know him?"

"Yes, I alone in the village know who your real father is, besides of course, your mother."

This admission served to confirm in Kutkhay's mind another matter: the identity of the mysterious "spirit" in the mask at the initiation ceremony, the one who implanted in him the seed of his ancestors. He decided not to mention this. The shaman continued, "All right. I will teach you your father's tongue, but you must repay me with gifts. Also, you must swear to teach it to no one else, not for any reason... never."

"As you wish." the boy answered, hardly able to contain himself.

He realized he would now have to redouble his efforts at hunting and in his work in order to fulfill these new obligations, besides those to his family and that of his future wife, but Kutkhay was ready to work and sacrifice without limit to obtain what he desired.

He asked bluntly, "Will you tell me also about my father? Did you know him?"

"Yes, but you must tell no one. Not even your mother's husband knows that you are not his son and this must never be revealed. Understood?"

"Yes. What was my father's name?" he blurted.

"James."

"What meaning has it?"

"This, I don't know."

"And... what was he like?"

"We shall talk about that another time, when you have brought me your offerings."

That same afternoon, while he hunted with Mokoa, he asked, "Did any of the strangers give you anything, a gift?"

"No, not one thing. But..." he continued with a sly grin.

"But?"

"I played in secret with one of them."

Kutkhay was hurt. Some part of him was disconcerted by the freedom with which his lover shared himself, but a greater disappointment was in his not having his own opportunity, or perhaps the courage, to have had a similar experience. He pretended indifference. "And did you like it?"

"Sure did. They have a different way to do it, the strangers."

Different, how?"

"Let's find a safe place. I can't wait to show you."

It had been a long while since Kutkhay had the chance to be alone with his friend, and desire immediately flared up within him. When they found a quiet place, Kutkhay resumed his questioning.

"Did you just offer yourself to the stranger?"

"No, as a matter of fact he asked me."

"But how were you able to talk with him? You don't speak their tongue."

Mokoa chuckled, "For such things you don't need to speak. It was a young sailor. I fancied the way he looked, and he was alone going into the forest, so I followed him. As I guessed - and hoped -- he was going to take a piss. I hid and watched him as he opened his clothing. I was curious to see if the strangers had different genitals. While I was looking straight at his cock he noticed me. At first I thought I'd better run, but he smiled right away and beckoned to me. So I went right up to him and he just stood there, stroking his hardness. He undid my loincloth... like this... then he took my cock in his hand... like this. When I got real hard, like him, he held me against him... like this. Then he put his lips to mine, like this..."

Mokoa had his friend in a close embrace and kissed him on the mouth. At first Kutkhay found this a very strange thing, but before long he succumbed to its pleasurable sensations and instinctively mimicked the bizarre actions in return. Both became intensely aroused. Mokoa broke the embrace, and while sliding his hands down Kutkhay's sides, continued. "Then he crouched down, like this, grabbed me by the hips, and with his mouth..."

The gasp of an exquisite thrill escaped from Kutkhay's lips. "That's... so good... Don't stop," he moaned breathlessly,

Mokoa didn't need to be begged, but in a little while he stood up again and kissed his friend once more while releasing his own loincloth. He whispered, "Now you try."

Kutkhay eagerly duplicated what he thought he had felt being done to him a moment before. The first taste of his friend's hard penis was strangely lacking in flavor, at least a strong flavor, although he didn't know what he expected, but the exhilaration he felt as that beautiful flesh pole throbbed in his mouth was incredibly exciting. They switched positions a few times, alternating with deep kisses. Next Mokoa had him lie on the grass and, getting down on his knees, straddled his friend's head and leaned over him. It took no time for Kutkhay to figure out that they could pleasure one another at the same time. They were both sexually aroused much more than ever before, and at a certain point Kutkhay could no longer resist. He rolled to maneuver his friend under him, and with a fierce new passion, impaled him with his turgid prong.

As he pounded into him, he asked in a husky voice he hardly recognized as his own, "And did he do this to you also?"

"Ye-e-es..."

"And you liked it, didn't you?"

"Yesss..."

"But you like it when I do it, too, right?"

"Oh ye-e-esss... even more..."

And they continued with astounding, new-found energy until they both climaxed in a frenzied explosion. Mokoa turned to renew their kisses, until their passions calmed and their bodies relaxed.

Mokoa asked his friend, "Do you like how the strangers play?"

"It is wonderful! We must always play this way, too, don't you think?

Mokoa nodded with a bright smile as they looked into each other's eyes.

Kutkhay began his lessons with the shaman, quickly picking up the first, basic expressions of the new language. Since he was able to bring his teacher game with surprising frequency, these lessons came at a fast pace. Clever, and bright as ever, the youth learned rapidly, and was soon able to have short conversations with the shaman. Just as rewarding was what he learned of his father, James. In his mind, the image of the sailor was an exotic, romantic figure: tall, with wavy hair of a golden color, he had green eyes set into a handsome face.

The young man was charmed by the beauty Kutkhay's mother, and on an occasion when he saw her leaving the village alone, he followed her into the forest. As she was picking berries, he appeared before her. She was frightened but fascinated and, while cautious, allowed him to reach out with his hand as she stood still. James brushed lightly across her breast with his hand, causing her to emit a faintly heard moan. He proceeded to loosen her apron, and when it fell to the ground he caressed her deftly at the entrance to her womanhood. After another soft moan she responded with a caress of her own to his as yet concealed manhood. He quickly undressed himself under her wondrous gaze and lay her under him in the tall grass. He entered her and there they made love for a long while, until he imparted his seed. They continued to meet some three times more in the few days while his ship lay at anchor. When the ship departed so did James, never to return. And when Kutkhay's mother found herself pregnant, she guessed it was not of her husband's doing. The concerned young woman went to the shaman, disclosing to him the furtive events with the tall stranger and appealing to his wisdom for guidance. The shaman told her to simply have intercourse with her husband and say nothing, allowing him to believe the child was his own.

Along with his routine activities as an adult of the village, and the secret lessons with the shaman, Kutkhay continued to meet from time to time with his woman and to do his duty, pleasant but hardly satisfactory. As always, to achieve an orgasm worthy of his self-respect he had to keep his eyes shut and imagine it was his beloved Mokoa lying beneath him, responding to his efforts.

One day, at last, Tumchey's woman was recognized to be pregnant and so the preparations for the marriage ceremonies began, first among them being the two families consulting the shaman for the day most favorable for the event. When this day arrived, Tumchey's family prepared for bonfires at the center of the ceremonial area.

In the evening the bride's family brought their finest mat to one end of this area, upon which the young woman was required sit. At the other end was Tumchey, surrounded by his family and age-brothers. All the rest of the village citizenry were at the two other sides, forming a wide square around the bonfires. A village elder, not related to either family, walked into the very center and addressed the bride in a voice clear and strong for all to hear, yet gentle as a lullaby, explaining all the duties of a good and worthy wife. He turned to the groom and gave an appropriately corresponding speech. With these concluded he took Tumchey by the hand and led him to stand in front of his bride. Tumchey held out a hand to the girl and all her family members began to wail, watching as he had her stand up and led her back to his mat. She followed him, but as prescribed, showed her reluctance by keeping her head bowed and making a show of how he had to almost drag her along.

Once they were seated on his mat, the old man took her arms and placed them around her new husband's neck. He proceeded to do the same with Tumchey. All the others began a jubilant procession in front of the couple, leaving their gifts. This took some time, and when everyone returned to their places the old man had the girl sit on Tumchey's lap. Both pretended embarrassment, as the tradition required. Now all the married couples participated in a traditional dance, during which Tumchey's initiation fellows -- that is, his age-brothers who remained still unwed -- lifted the couple who remained seated on their mat, and carried them into the house of Tumchey's parents. The couple was removed to a bed specially prepared for this occasion, and the young men filed back outside. They stayed outside and blocked the way so that no one else could either enter or look inside.

The ritual was not over yet. Here, one of the men turned around to watch the events as they unfolded. His duty was to describe in every detail what transpired within, underlining the most intimate of actions with salacious commentary. The couples continued to dance, but all the others, as each deed performed by the couple was divulged, cried out cheers of approval. In time the couple emerged, naked, and ran into the ocean for perform a ritual bath, still escorted by the groom's party of young men. That done, Tumchey dressed his bride and in his turn, his friends dressed him, preparing for their return to the throng of dancing couples. This signaled the start of the banquet, where some of the edible gifts were also consumed.

The raucous meal concluded, the groom's age-brothers took the remaining gifts and formed a kind of parade behind the newlyweds to escort them to their home. The crowd, yelling out expressions of good wishes, slowly dispersed to their own houses. The weather was pleasant, though, and some, mainly men, formed little groups who talked among themselves at the shore or around one of the four languishing bonfires.

Kutkhay was one of those not yet ready for sleep, and he wandered to one of the small groups, where the talk here compared the recent visit of the strangers with those of the past. The boy listened to these tales with a new sense of the reality of those events. There was a moment when they heard a distant rumbling and one of the elders looked to the southern sky.

"The season of the small rains approaches. And the Spirits favor us this year."

"Father, in how many days will the rains begin?" one of the youths asked.

"Soon, my son, no more than three days."

The time of the small rains did come, as predicted, but it was the harbinger of the great rains that followed directly in its wake. All labor in the open air ceased, so the time was put to use within the large houses. Here new tools were made, and vessels and boxes; weaving and plaiting was done; and the need to mend, repair and maintain a thousand small things was attended to. One emerged from his home rarely. This of course included Kutkhay, meaning that he would have difficulty meeting his woman, although that wasn't a cause for much regret. But it also meant not meeting with Mokoa, and that weighed heavily upon him; and even more than this, significantly, the rains hindered his acquisition of the small game he needed for the shaman's lessons.

On the next opportunity for meeting with the shaman, when his lesson was through he hinted at his dilemma.

The shaman shook his head. "As you know, except for my apprentice I am mostly alone, as my status requires me to live. You can come here at almost any time to do small chores in my house. You can also pay by performing some other services, affording me some relief..."

Kutkhay recalled what happened during his initiation and supposed he understood what the man was talking about. On that occasion there was a good deal of pain, but there were moments of pleasure, too. And of course, with Mokoa always found it to be extremely enjoyable. Regardless, the youth was too determined to learn the language of his father to allow anything to stand in his way.

CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 4

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(I can read only English, French, Italian... Andrej)