The Island Apocalypse By Red Cullions
The key events in this fantasy are extrapolated (extravagantly) from a real experience: a very handsome insurance salesman (very recently a star football player -- I was his first insurance customer) brought his company mentor and a youngish doctor friend to a conference meeting to sell me insurance. (I was afflicted with ulcers and high blood pressure even then, and anxious about passing a physical.) The insurance guys made their pitch and then the doctor opened his black bag and gave me a physical exam right there in front of the salesmen at the conference table, including the complete "drop your pants" routine. I managed to control myself (only a slight semi-hard-on) but the situation titillated me, and judging by the blush on the older insurance guy's face, it turned him on too. The very handsome football player looked bored, but to jolly me along he and the doctor made several crude but genial "locker room" jokes. In retrospect, I think the subliminal sex stimulation clouded my judgment -- I bought a policy I really couldn't afford, and had to let it go a few years later. But the "first sale" was fortuitous for Angelo, the football player, whose meteoric rise in the company followed right on; for years he sent me a card every Christmas, calling me his lucky charm.
What was missing from this real life scenario, of course, was any sense of privacy (and thus the possibility of developments, the promise of future things). An outsider might have entered the room at any time, though oddly enough none did. The small group audience was essential to the titillation, but the situation had to be otherwise private enough for serious flirtations within the small group.
So in my dream I made the circumstances as exotic and compelling as possible: a Caribbean island, a fantastically wealthy customer with an isolated estate, a Hurricane in progress, a lavishly appointed cave as the basic setting. In this scenario I am the young hunk selling insurance, and the customer is an aging Greek god. My friends are the older company guy, a wiry little Jewish wise-acre, and the doctor, a college buddy who owes me a favor. We fly into the island to make our pitch, having paid no attention to the weather reports, but when we check into the local hotel, a call to the prospect elicits the distressing information that a killer hurricane is only hours away. The prospect urges us to hurry out to his estate, prepared to camp there. The local hotel, he says, is too flimsy to withstand hurricane winds, but he is equipped with an impregnable storm shelter.
We have trouble finding a cabbie who is willing to take us out there, though. By the time we arrive, high winds and torrential rains have begun. At the gatehouse, some two miles from the mansion, Alexis Count Syracuse is waiting in his jeep, a World War II surplus item judging by its looks. Alexis is sixty-three, according to company records, but he looks twenty years younger: dark blonde hair thoroughly wind-touseled and shot through with grey, a sun-bronzed, somewhat craggy face with blue eyes, a wide, sensuous mouth, prominent cheekbones. He is impatient.
"Hurry, gentlemen! We shall be drenched and worse before long."
We pile our bags in back and crowd into the rugged but cramped little vehicle. It has a canvas top, which soon blows away. The road is narrow and winding, and at one point we ford an already swollen creek that fills the opensided jeep butt-high before we climb up the other bank. The wind roars, the rain blinds as well as soaks. I get the shivers.
The Count's mansion is anchored to a mound of rock mere yards from the shoreline. We approach from the landside, of course, heading for a cavern below the house which serves, apparently, as a garage. Just as we arrive lightning flashes and an explosive report cuts through the windroar; a large tree slams across the ramp at the garage entrance.
"Abandon ship," Alexis cries, in a strangely gleeful shriek. "Hold hands, gentlemen, and follow me single file."
We thread our way through the fallen pine and into the cavern. Inside, it's pitch black, but there is at least some relief from the wind. Alexis holds my right hand behind him, Danny Stein follows behind me grasping my left, which also clutches my brief case. Dr. Jim brings up the rear, lugging, it turns out, his heavy black doctor bag behind him. Except for the briefcase, Danny and I have abandoned our luggage.
In the dark, Alexis finds a cabinet in the wall, and soon a glow from a flashlight interrupts the gloom. "Pass these back," Alexis says, and more flashlights flick on as we each possess one. Now we can see our feet as we climb a crude circular iron staircase along the cave wall.
"Without electricity, the lift dies," Alexis shouts above the windroar. "This is the emergency exit. But we do not go to the house this time." About twenty feet up the wall, we step off the stair into a narrow passage cut from the rock. At its end is another circular iron stair, topped by a trap door in the ceiling.
"The door is very heavy; give me a hand," Alexis commands. As we stand close and strain to heave up the circular iron trap at the top of the narrow stair I feel his powerful thighs pressed against mine. Then the door gives, and slides aside, and we mount the final steps.
We find ourselves in what appears to be a marble-floored foyer. There is a drain opening in the center, and ornate elevator doors along one wall. Alexis lights a pair of kerosene torches mounted on either side of the doors. "We shall be safe here, gentlemen. I apologize for the rude welcome. Our immediate problem is to restore warmth and comfort. Please take off your wet clothes." Alexis has wheeled from a wall niche an ancient coat rack, bearing assorted hangers. "Hang them here to dry. I will bring towels."
As he speaks, he hurriedly strips, removing soggy cordovan loafers, slacks, knit shirt, underwear. Then he slips through a side door and emerges with a tall stack of oversize white towels, which he places on a small table beside a bronze mirror. As he turns to face us, smiling broadly, an involuntary gasp escapes our throats. Alexis is an incredible hunk, especially for a man allegedly more than sixty years old. He is exquisitely muscled, uniformly bronzed, wasp-waisted with a broad chest and meaty thighs. His pubic hair is dark gold and curly, and it tops a large but beautifully proportioned uncut cock.
"Perhaps now," the Count says, "we have time for introductions? I am Alexis Patrocles, of course. And you," he says extending a hand to me, "must be Angelo, the football player turned insurance agent." At 6' 2" and 220 pounds of lean beef I am an obvious match for that description.
"Right, and this," I say indicating Danny, "is Daniel Stein, my boss at Mutual Benefit." Danny is nude by now, but still dripping wet. I notice for the first time that though he is short and wiry, he's extremely well-hung for his diminutive stature, a fact that is amply evident despite the chill factor. He blushes as he takes the Count's hand.
"I'm Dr. James Santini," says my old frat brother, stepping up to offer his hand. Dr. Jim, whom I have long known and admired, having at one time plugged his butt with some regularity, is a slender Latin with a long face, creamy white skin and curly, jet black body hair, densely matted across his chest and again above his crotch. He has grabbed a towel to cover himself, but he lets it drop as the Count claps him on the shoulder, saying jocularly, "Welcome doctor. You will be the first medical examiner I have ever met in the nude."
Somewhat redfaced, we each finish toweling the water from our bodies as Alexis ushers us into a large room with a fireplace, a red oriental carpet, and two high-backed couches facing the fire. "Warm yourselves," he urges. "I will look for loungewear." As we move toward the fire, we drop our wallets and pocket change onto a mahogany table standing behind the nearest couch. In a few minutes Alexis returns with what appear to be "one size fits all" Terry bathrobes. They fit him, of course. Danny's is more than ample, and Dr. Jim's quite adequate, but mine is pretty skimpy for my outsize frame. No matter how tightly I wrap it, it won't really hide my crotch when I sit down, but I decide not to sweat this -- we've already established a locker-room atmosphere here.
Now a bottle of Courvoisier and brandy glasses appear on a tray table before the fire, with a basket of apples beside them. Each of us takes a good snort, chugging it down. Then we lean back to admire the flames.
"Gentlemen, we are stuck here for at least six hours," Alexis is saying. "The center of the storm should pass over the island in approximately 90 minutes, but the following half of the hurricane is the wider half. My wind-instruments are located on top of the house, and may not survive much longer, but we are currently registering gusts up to 150 miles per hour."
The windroar is faint here in the bowels of the Count's rock-castle. After the tension of escaping the storm, drowsiness beckons, aided by the booze. Sprawled before the fire, legs apart, I feel my cock stir. "What a beautiful set-up for a fucking orgy!" I think.
Then I remember why I am here: a million dollar life insurance policy, my first sale if I can make it happen! The count wants a whole life policy made out to his youngest son. Naturally the company is cautious -- we have already collected reams of the count's medical records -- but the underwriters insist on an in-house physical examination, and since the Count refuses to leave the island, we've brought the examiner to him. And fortunately, despite the storm, Doc's still got his tool kit, and I've saved my brief case. What's to stop us from making our pitch, doing the physical, and wrapping up the paperwork, just as I'd hoped to do?
"Hey Count," Danny says. "What happened to your staff? You don't take care of this castle alone?"
"No, of course not," Alexis responds. "I dismissed the staff this morning, after the storm shutters went up. They need to be with their families. Fortunately, perhaps, my own `family' is in Switzerland. We are estranged at the moment. The cook left us enough food in the kitchen here for several days. Without refrigeration, it will soon spoil, so we had better eat it. Let me show you around our cave, gentlemen, then we'll have supper, and perhaps afterward we can do business?"
At the end of the room opposite the fire is an ornate dining table with places for six, flanked by a matching sideboard with elaborate candelabra. Through a door at one end of this dining area is a small kitchen, with a bottled-gas stove and oven, a large refrigerator, now silent but still cold, a sink, a pantry and a china cabinet. Off the other side of the dining area an archway leads into an alcove with two double beds and a mirrored dressing table. A locker room style lavatory opens off this area, with two showerheads along one wall, two toilets and wash basins along the opposite one.
"I think the builder intended this cave as a fairly basic fallout shelter," Alexis tells us. "There is a gasoline powered generator, but no one has remembered to refill its fuel tanks. We have enough fuel, perhaps, to run for a few hours in an emergency. But we have oil lamps for illumination, and the fire for warmth. The water supply is fed by gravity from a cistern overhead. The place can entertain half a dozen persons for quite a while, but only if they're intimate." He smiles again broadly.
"Excuse me, Count," Dr. Jim intervenes, "but I may need that auxiliary power for a few minutes. Most of my medical testing equipment is battery powered, but the EKG machine requires 110 volts for the printer."
"All right. When it is time for the testing, I will start the generator. The starter is battery-powered, easy to operate."
Under the circumstances, no one feels a need to shower, and since there is no question of dressing for dinner, despite the elegance of the setting, we return to the fire and more shots of brandy. Sprawled companionably along the divans facing the flames, none of us bothers to check the closure of his robe. My crotch is completely exposed, and I soon notice Alexis studying it from time to time. Suddenly, he asks whether anyone would care to assist him in the kitchen.
"My culinary experience is limited to TV dinners," I reply, "but I'll be glad to follow your orders."
"Excellent. The food is already prepared. We have only to warm and serve it."
We busy ourselves with setting the table and warming dishes, some, like the frozen Lobster Newburgh, in the oven, others in pots on the stove. The Count contrives to brush against me frequently, and I make it as easy for him as I can, showing my body openly available as much as I dare. Finally, as I stretch to reach a cabinet above the oven with my robe wide open, Alexis puts his hand in my crotch. I smile down at him.
"No problem," I say. "Anything you like, any time. Let me know when and where."
"Your buddies -- are they also open to me?"
"Dr. Santini is my former lover. He'll probably be easy, but I don't know Stein very well. You'll have to go slow there, really seduce him."
"I salute you for your frankness." Alexis kneels and takes my nine inches deep into his throat. "Careful," I say sharply, catching a glimpse of Danny approaching the doorway out of the corner of my eye.
Alexis recovers quickly, spooning dishes from the pots into serving bowls. He hands these to Danny, saying "take these to the table if you will, old man." I give Dr. Jim a conspiratorial wink as he appears behind Stein. Then as the Count follows Danny to the table, I tell Jim:
"Make the physical exam as sexy as you possibly can, old buddy. The Count will love it, and we need to psych Danny out. If he'll go along, this could be a weekend to remember."
"You're a fast worker," Jim replies. "I'll do the best I can. But remember, I've gotta have a report I can sign my name to. If I miss some vital flaw in this dude's life expectancy, the company will have my ass in a sling forever."
"Mine, too," I say. "If he passes, though, the sack would be a great place to celebrate for all of us."
The Island Apocalypse, Part II
The dining area is now warmly lit by the elaborate candelabra on the sideboard. The table has been reset for four, with Alexis at one end, myself at the other. Dr. Jim is on the Count's left, and Danny on his right. The dinner is lavish: oyster stew, Lobster Newburgh, scalloped potatoes, asparagus, green salad, fruit and nuts, cheese, champagne. We dig in, with growing hilarity fed by the wine. Soon beads of sweat, prompted by the food, the spirits, the increasing warmth of the room's atmosphere, or all of these, roll down our faces. Alexis is the first to shrug out of his robe. Dr. Jim and I follow immediately. Of course, our crotches are still hidden by the table. Finally Danny says "What the hell" and joins us. A glance in the mirror over the sideboard now suggests a scene that might have graced a Roman bacchanale.
By the time we've reached the coffee and cigars stage, nudity has been implicitly accepted, as has a general low-key giddiness. No one makes a move to cover himself as we all rise to carry our dishes to the sink, and rearrange the table for our insurance presentation. Alexis asks the doctor to help him start the generator, and as they bend together over the machine, which is located in a closet off the foyer, I see the Count slip a finger between Dr. Jim's buttocks. "My turn is coming," Jim says, grinning.
An overhead fixture in the foyer begins to glow, indicating that generator power is being produced. We all return to the table. Jim plugs in his machines on the sideboard; Alexis turns off other lights and appliances, all except the refrigerator, to be sure Jim has enough wattage for the test equipment.
And then it's my turn: I explain the deal the company will offer, if Alexis passes the physical. Basically the company will bet that the Count lives another 15 years, to age 78, by which time he will have paid the face amount in premiums, and the interest on the million becomes pure company profit. That schedule requires a down payment of a quarter-million, plus annual premiums of $50,000 for 15 years. At that point, the policy is paid up, and becomes an endowment for the beneficiary. Alexis, meanwhile, is guaranteed a legacy of a million dollars for his youngest son in case he should die before the endowment is fully funded.
This is not news to the Count, since the company and his lawyers have chewed the details over many times. He agrees to these terms, and produces a certified check for $250,000 made out to the company. I have the contracts ready, but Danny and I cannot sign them until Dr. Jim certifies the Count's physical fitness. And so the medical exam begins.
"I understand some of this gets pretty personal," Danny says to the Count. "Would you prefer that Angelo and I leave the table?"
"Not at all," Alexis smiles. "I am neither shy nor modest, as you may have noticed. In fact, I should think you owe it to your company to watch this exam closely."
Danny nods, and gets a little red in the chops. Jim already has most of the Count's medical history recorded, but he goes over it again now, asking the essential questions. Operations: appendicitis, perforated ulcer, now healed. Benign prostate enlargement, controlled by diet and medication. History of high blood pressure, controlled by diet and medication. Youthful diseases: measles, chicken pox, gonorrhea. No syphilus, no HIV.
"Lie down on the table," Jim says. "I need a heart rate and an EKG in a resting state; then I'm going to ask you to run in place for five minutes and check you again."
The Count's crotch is now right on Danny's dinner plate, or would be if we hadn't cleared the dishes away. Jim takes a standard blood pressure, then attaches the electrodes for the EKG. While he does this, he explores Alexis's skin, noting moles and potential pre-cancerous spots; he fingers the Count's appendix scar, palpates his testicles, pulls back his foreskin and pinches open the urethra, inserts a swab and takes a culture of the mucus lining. Danny can't take his eyes away, and can't control his blushes.
On cue, Alexis gets up and begins to jog. He has a semi-hard-on, which bobs up and down as he runs. Jim brackets the Count's belly with his hands, one in front, one against the small of his back. "Breathe from the diaphragm," he commands. The Count's cock bobs against Jim's hand as he tries to expand his lower abdomen, and Jim cups it and presses it against the diaphragm. When the timer goes off, Alexis has a serious hard-on. Danny begins to squirm, as Jim takes a pressure reading, then attaches the electrodes once more for the EKG. The Count's massive erection is now inches from Danny's nose.
"Am I offending you, Daniel my friend," Alexis says.
"No, sir, but I am embarrassed for you," Danny replies. "You are the most elegant man I have ever met, and I hate to see you handled so grossly. You should be treated with dignity."
"I thank you for the compliment, but I do not feel ill-treated, friend Daniel. Dignity is within. My body has always been open to my friends. Beauty, too, is in the eye of the beholder. Your body is for me a pleasure to behold."
"Mine?" Danny huffs. "I'm nothing. Too short, too skinny, no chest, no thighs. Locker rooms always make me nervous. I feel outclassed by all the men I meet."
"I would say you are young, slender and powerful, potency in a compressed package. You need bow to no one in the genital department. I would trade you this body for yours."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding. But I will say one thing: I think that doctors might be a little more human if they had to play turnabout with their patients. I am tempted to try it."
"Later," Jim says, pulling on a rubber glove. "I won't deny you that chance. But right now, I have to check your prostate. So stand up, turn around, and bend over."
Jim's chair is right across from Danny's, and Alexis backs up and thrusts his butt into Jim's face. Jim dips his digits in a jar of lube and inserts his forefinger. He palpates the Count's prostate for a long time, then inserts a second finger. Again Danny is mesmerized.
"I can't really be positive of your condition with this primitive tactile examination, Count," Jim finally announces. "I have brought with me a sonograph machine with a rectal transducer, and I'm going to take some sound pictures of your prostate."
Alexis groans, stagily, and Danny looks sympathetic. "Isn't this carrying a routine physical a bit far," he erupts. "We may lose a customer if you continue these indignities."
"We may lose a cool million if I don't," Jim retorts. "As the doctor on the spot, I mean to cover my ass with pictures for the review board. If you don't like it, you can take your revenge. Shove it up my ass if you dare!"
"I'll do that."
"Calm yourself, friend Daniel. Besides, I get first crack at his ass," Alexis says. "You heard him promise a minute ago."
"What's the matter with you Angelo? Why aren't you defending your prospective client?" Danny interrupts.
I smile sleepily. "Don't think Alexis needs any defending," I say. "Can bloody well take care of himself. But he's right about one thing. Been meaning to tell you. You're hung like a Howitzer."
Danny groans histrionically and claps his hands to his head. "Thanks, but I think you've all lost your minds."
Meanwhile Jim has hooked up the sonar machine. It has a long phallic attachment at the end of a hose. He gets Alexis down on his hands and knees on the table, dips the phallic transducer in lube, and inserts it, moving it in and out and from side to side (definitely a fucking motion) while a small screen registers an image, and from time to time the machine freezes a frame and prints it for the record.
"Am I hurting you," Jim says.
"No, love. I'm just thinking about what I'm going to do to you in a minute." Pre-cum is now dripping from the Count's cock, which is rigid against his underbelly. "Would it offend you if I fucked the doctor's ass, friend Daniel?"
"Hell no!" A pause. "I can't answer for the doctor."
"He'll get his chance, but not until I finish my examination," Jim retorts. "Okay, that's enough, I guess." Jim withdraws the transducer, wiping the shit off it with Kleenex, then wiping the Count's ass. "Nice rings," he comments. "Tight, but well-stretched. I'd pay a lot for a chance to plug you."
"Sell me some insurance, and it's a deal," Alexis says. "For all three of you. My pleasure. But I get my revenge first."
Dr. Jim is bending over the sideboard, securing the sonograph. Alexis grabs his hips from behind and thrusts his dripping cock deep into the doctor's asshole.
"Awwwwwwww-right," Jim groans. "I deserve it. Fuck the shit out of me."
Again Danny is mesmerized. When Jim and Alexis stumble toward his chair in the heat of passion, he leaps up, displaying a truly enormous erection.
"Come on, Danny boy," Alexis croons. "Get on the bandwagon. Shove it up my butt."
"Fuck him, Danny," I say. "He wants it. So do you."
"I don't know. I've never done that."
"Let me help you." Coming up close behind him, I grab a handful of lube and grease his cock. Then I walk him toward Alexis' ass and guide his cock into that well-oiled hole.
When I'm sure Danny's well into the fuck, I step back."Which end of the daisy chain wants me," I ask. "I want in."
"Mine, for old times sake," Jim says. So I lube Jim's creamy white cock with its candy apple helmet, and back into it. It's all Jim needs to start spewing gobs of jism up my ass. He starts a chain reaction, with Alexis spurting next, and finally Danny. But I still haven't come yet, and I complain.
"Give it to me, Angelo," Alexis says as Danny drops off. And so I do. Then, with silent accord, we all head for the showers.
The Island Apocalypse, Part III
Just outside the head Jim takes me aside. "Angelo, get Alex to fuck you. I don't know how to describe this, but I've never felt anything like him before."
"Gee thanks, buddy," I say with some sarcasm. Jim shakes his head. "I don't mean it that way -- you're the greatest, but you just gotta take my word. Trust me."
With four guys and two showerheads, we naturally pair off in the shower room; Alexis is already sharing with Danny, soaping his wiry body tenderly, with lots of attention to the crotch. Then he hands the soap to Danny. Somewhat hesitantly Danny begins to soap and then to caress the Count's magnificent physique. When he reaches the crotch he kneels and pulls back the Count's foreskin. He soaps the helmet, rinses it, and then takes it experimentally into his mouth. The Count's cock stiffens.
"Head back, friend Daniel. Straighten the throat like a sword swallower. Take me as deep as you can."
Danny gags, but comes back for more. Jim and I gather around to offer encouragement. I massage Danny's neck and shoulders, Jim rubs his butt and massages his cock. In a few minutes my old company boss is giving creditable head to a prime client, and getting close to creaming himself.
"Can you swallow my come, friend Daniel?" Alexis says."I would prefer to come inside you, if you cannot."
Danny pulls back a little. "I've never done any of this before. I don't know."
"Take his butt-cherry first, Alex," I suggest. "Let's dry off and hit the sack for a while. I want you to fuck me next."
"I am looking forward to that, Angelo. Will you join us in bed, Danny?"
"Whatever you guys say," Danny responds.
I lift the little guy in my arms, and carry him off to the bedroom like a bride across the threshhold. "We're going to take your cherry, Danny boy, but don't worry, do as I say and it won't hurt much."
I put him on the bed, turn him on his side, and pull his knees up into the fetal position. Then I take a gob of lube and start working on his anus, stretching the rings with my fingers. Alex lies beside him, and Jim sucks him up hard and wet. Then Alex cuddles up to Danny from behind, saying "Will you take me, friend Daniel?"
"I'm scared shitless, Count, but yes, I'll take you."
Alex enters him with a slow, steady pressure. Danny cries out sharply once, and then a remarkable transformation occurs. His whole body relaxes and a beatific smile spreads over his face. "Is that what you were talking about?" I whisper to Jim.
"Must be," Jim says.
"Tell me about it."
"You won't believe me. It's like telepathy, the voice of love inside your head, or something. You have to be there."
Alexis soon wraps his arms around the little guy's slender body and rolls over onto his back. Slowly he begins to stroke Danny's enormous boner, keeping time with the thrusts of his hips against his ass. Danny's eyes are closed, and an expression of ecstasy wreathes his face. Clearly the Count's ravishing embrace is the peak experience of his life.
It isn't long before Danny erupts with volcanic force, spraying us all, and Alex withdraws gently, saying "I think he will want to sleep now." When Alex rises and starts toward the sitting room, Jim and I follow. We each refill our brandy glasses and crouch on the rug before the fire.
"Your stamina is remarkable, Count," Jim says.
"It has been a long time," the Count replies, staring into the flames. "This is my first sexual encounter in more than two years."
"You are separated from the Countess?"
"Six months ago. But she forbid me her bed long before that."
"That's hard to understand. You must be an all-around fantastic lover, if my experience with you is any guide."
"Thank you, Jim. Now I must have Angelo's opinion," Alex says, rubbing the inside of my thigh. His touch is silky and hot. I turn toward him and we embrace, rubbing our bodies together as we lie back on the rug. Jim moves aside to give us room.
I'm solid beef, but Alexis is marble-hard, like a living example of Praxiteles' art. His tongue is like fire, flickering over my skin, into my mouth, then my ear, down to my armpit. He sears my nipples with tongue and teeth, dips into my navel, then engulfs my throbbing cock with blazing heat. I swing around to get my face in his fantastic crotch, nibbling his alabaster balls. But he's insistent, bathing my perineum, then slipping his tongue up my ass. A slow charge travels up my spine, and into the base of my skull. As he flips me on my back, lifts my legs, and enters me, I feel an alien presence fill my consciousness, yearning and hungry. I want to be ravished, totally. I can't get enough of his cock in me, his body in my arms.
Then the visions begin: I'm in the arms of a bearded satyr, rank and hairy, pumping me full of burning seed. But no, it's a woman, crazed with lust, straddling my body and humping me with urgent bumps and grinds. Then a boy's ass, milk white and tender, sliding up and down on my throbbing cock. As the images pass I sense that these are bits of Alex's memory, activated by his present lust. But how? And why are they in my head?
The visions clear, and a voice fills my consciousness, breathy and deep: "My angel! I must have you, all of you, always. Take me, let me fill you with bliss. Be mine." A fire builds in my body, threatens to melt my flesh, consume my soul. I dimly sense my orgasm beginning, but it seems a mere leit motif to the passionate conflagration in my mind. When it becomes, at last, more than I can bear, I black out.
When I revive, Alexis is bending over me, his face filled with concern.
"Forgive me, Angelo. I have such needs! But I should not lose control like that. I hope I have not injured you."
"I don't understand, Count. I have never been psychic. How do you reach my mind?"
"It is a gift, a curse! I cannot explain it. You arouse such a passion in me! And then I lose control. I apologize, my friend. Now you know why I am such a solitary outcast."
"The telepathy is that why the Countess left you?"
"Of course. I am bisexual. I cannot edit my memories in the heat of passion."
"I see. Dr. Jim told me he felt a 'voice of love' in his mind. So did I. But I saw other things a satyr, a boy, a lusty woman. I thought your climax was going to burn me to ashes. Nothing even close to your passion has ever reached me before."
"I am sorry to gross you out."
"Don't be sorry, Count. I feel privileged to have shared both your mind and your body. But it was a shock. I don't think I could handle it very often."
"I understand."
(To Be Continued)