King of the Stone Age
by Esperanto Grrl
The First Story in The Muscle Growth History of the World
AN EXTRAORDINARY DISCOVERY!
In Piedmont country in North Italy, a most extraordinary discovery from the Ice Age of Europe was made: a skeleton of a huge male specimen, the largest stone age human ever discovered. He was of a type identical to Homo Sapiens, of the “Cro-Magnon” type, and was enormous: over 202 cm tall (6’7”) and it was estimated he was over 370 (!) pounds, all giant muscles.
The newspapers called him the Hercules of Pietmont. When it comes to Paleoanthropology, newspaper exaggeration is the ugly bane of the entire field, but this time it seemed accurate: he was obviously a muscular giant.
The bones were thick and elephantine and yet had an obvious proportionality to them, suggesting an aesthetic – some mathematicians and anatomists said they subscribed to the golden ratio at times. The forehead was obviously high and broad, suggesting a great intelligence to go with his physical strength. In fact, the cranial capacity exceeded that of modern man!
When reconstruction artists recreated his face based on the skull, it startled the world and gave the find a new nickname: the Adonis of Piedmont. He was compared to a male model or matinee idol, youthful, yet with a square jaw and dimpled chin and high cheekbones, with an obvious masculinity and manliness to his looks that made him far more interesting than another “pretty boy.”
Handsome, brawny and brainy, the find was called the “King of the Stone Age” by the press, and a ton of speculation came that raised all sorts of curiosity about who this extraordinary person was. There were guesses as to whether his obvious startling physique came from: possibly some sort of mutation or genetic quirk that resulted in a larger frame, lean body mass and an increase in the size of muscles. If brought to today, he would dwarf most bodybuilders or rugby or footballers.
Lots of fantastic speculative art surrounded the hunky giant, especially since he was found with what looked like a huge wood bow with giant flint-headed black arrows that were more like small spears than arrows, with remnants of sticky tar found around the heads.
The usual gang of idiots came up with their own fringe theories about the find. Von Daniken (“Chariots of the Gods?”) pointed to the skeleton as proof that humans were genetically engineered in the distant past. The creationists started to wonder if it was possible Adam had a bigger, sexier brother the Bible failed to mention.
The Adonis of Piedmont was not the only out of the ordinary find in that Piedmontese cave. The walls were covered with parietal art using three-point perspective, something previously discovered in the caves at Chauvet, but not rediscovered until the Renaissance.
The most incredible part was that unlike other cave art, it actually represented the human figure. Not just faithfully, but exactly, in a series of three portraits that accurately reflected the human face, the oldest real depictions of specific people.
The first portrait was of a woman. Peaches and cream complexioned, with freckles, she had short red hair, huge doe eyes, and a pixielike face that was more wholesome and sweet than truly “beautiful.”
The second was of a man, though it wasn’t obvious at first, because it was a feminine, almost slight female face, goldskinned, beardless and dark blonde.
The third was of a robust, aristocratic and mature woman, ravishing and platinum blonde, with sloed, long eyelashed blue eyes with thick lips like ripe fruits.
Where science stops, artists and critics fill the gap, and it was obvious that considering the obvious care and adoration that was placed into the portraits that they were loved ones…it was extremely unlikely family members would be drawn like that!
“I AM FIREHAIR”
I am Firehair, of the Fire-People, and I tell you the story of how I first met Tangor, the mightiest man in the world.
I will never forget the first time I saw him, when he was washing in the moonlight, naked and unashamed. At the time, I was running from my own tribe, the Fire People. Because of my flame-colored hair, I was marked at birth as a bride of the Fire Mountain before my seventeenth year, to be thrown in so that it wouldn’t growl, roar and throw fire at us. I escaped and stole a canoe and a knife (a man-weapon!) to head down the Bear River. Other tribes were unfriendly to mine, which made it a perfect place to escape, as anyone of the Fire People that trespass would die with so many arrows in them they’d look like porcupines.
No one of the Fire People goes this far for that reason. But I was not afraid.
At the time I thought a bad-spirit was with me. I had lost my canoe over the waterfalls and was soaking wet, and I could feel the eyes of something following me at all times.
I came to a waterfall, where I saw him. The moonlit sight took my breath away as he washed, naked and virile and unaware of his shocking handsomeness.
The first thing I noticed was his skin. It was only a shade lighter than his dark hair, a rich ebon-dark that nonetheless glistened with light, like polished black wood or the glossy hide of a black panther. When wet, water dripped and beaded and slicked in rivers over it as if it was as waterproof as a duck’s back. It was so dark that he could go naked and at night in shadows he could go without being seen, except for the whites of his eyes and as long as he didn’t show his teeth. His skin was sleek, hairless except on the head, and with a masculine dark forest of hair under his arms. He wore a necklace of cave lion teeth around his thick neck with barrel-thick, wire muscles, the white teeth contrasted against his dark skin gorgeously.
Unlike other men I have since seen that have skin that is black, he had straight, thick hair that came to his shoulders, as virile as a cave lion’s mane, with a dramatic widow’s peak.
The oddest feature of all were his eyes. They were a startling and exotic hazel-yellow that was almost gold, that seemed to glow in the dark like those of a cat, mesmeric and bewitching eyes that made my knees knock, eyes more like a wild creature than a person.
His features were clean-shaven, godlike and youthful – he couldn’t have been more than twenty-one. He was hollow cheeked and had dimples when he smiled, and a square, solid jaw that suggested strength. Over one eye, he had a small scar, a solid bar of ivory. His features were sphinxlike, and gave him an air of exotic mystery.
His body was unreally proportioned, with a small, narrow waist, ridged with deeply furroughed abs, out from which a huge back exploded out into a vast wingspan, a big cobra hood that gave his body the look of an upside down cone. The muscles of his back were chiseled, delineated and defined. He was massively framed, with giant shoulders that spread to a masculine and intimidating width. His biceps exploded in size with his slightest motion into huge peaked mountain points, and his forearms were pear shaped, wider at the elbow than wrist. His pectorals were giant shelves that burst out, huge cliffs that were a rounded shape. They clenched together and popped into a flex with his slightest movements. His bodyfat was almost negligible, with little square oblique muscles visible to the side of his abs.
Despite his strength, he was gazelle-graceful, and when he moved it was with a glide over the ground. He made as little sound as a shadow of a cloud passing over a hill and took in one quick, cat-surefooted stride three steps of an ordinary man. No doubt this was due to his athletic and rubber-flexible body. As he watched I saw him turn his giant legs around to the point that his ankle touched his ear. What legs! They were long, his thighs giant trunks with teardrop shaped muscles on his thighs, his calves like two oranges stuffed behind his shin. All I could think of when I saw them was how much I watched to drop to my knees, clutch them and feel how wide they are. I felt myself go white-hot between my legs, achingly aware of something that needed to be filled.
His muscular behind, which I got a good view of, pushed out behind his slim waist so very far into a rounded bubble, so lean that it was dimpled to either side, and the shifting of his legs made the ridged muscles under his skin flex and twitch like a creature moving underwater.
Between his column thick legs I could see his giant fat black snake, which dangled soft like a thick vine between his legs, the tip was shy of reaching his knees. By the ancestors, what a genital monster!
The one and only thing that could draw my eyes from this almost unearthly startling appearance was a snap of a sound like a twig. I turned around into the night-darkness and saw nothing. When I returned my eyes to the waterfall, he was, to my shock, not there.
It was then that I felt something huge behind me. At first, I thought it might be a cave bear, but it was actually the blackskinned young god. I had no idea anyone could move that fast and quickly, nor was I aware that he watched me. He was so close that I could feel the animal warmth of his body and smell his natural man scent, an overpowering, husky male muscle-musk.
The moment I turned around, I was amazed to look right at the level of his navel. I had no idea he was so huge, because from a distance he was so well proportioned. I have never been tall – in fact, I am considered tiny, slim and downright near-childlike. But the biggest men in my tribe only would clear the middle of his pectorals.
To my surprise, those incredible gold-hazel eyes of his had no aggression in them, which was surprising because most people in the world are suspicious of strangers. We tend to give good looking people more than their fair share of virtues, but it was obvious he was someone like me: unafraid and curious, traits that made us strange outsiders. His eyes had an obvious, focused intellect to them that I had only seen before in wise men, and weren’t glazed over or dull like others.
As he looked me over, I suddenly became very conscious of my wet clothes and appearance. My missing back molar, lost in a childhood accident, started to ache painfully – being around him has a way of making one’s flaws come out. I started to smile and look down uncontrollably.
“Greetings. You look like a lost little bird, aren’t you?” He said. His voice was a startling, deep and bass growl that made my body vibrate like a plucked string with its resonance.
With surprising tenderness, his huge hand, big enough to palm the top of my head, pushed some stray red hair past my ear. His eyes showed an expression of such innocence that I was a little ashamed of my carnal thoughts about him. I must have let my jaw drop, and nothing came out from my voice except a little squeak.
“You are of the Fire People? They throw flame-haired young girls into the fire mountain, don’t they?” He said. I was startled that he spoke our tribe’s tongue so well. Most people only know the tongue of their own tribe.
“Then you cannot go back. It is good you found me instead of other members of the Wolf-People. Have you noticed that the fire mountain spits fire whether anyone sends flame-hairs to die there or not?”
He said a thing that was taboo, but it was incredible to hear it out loud. I noticed that very thing myself! What did this handsome black giant have to fear from anyone?
“What is your name, beautiful one?” He asked. No one ever thought I was beautiful. I was teased for my spots, and when the hunters brought back ibex, I was given the fat instead of the meat to eat. When I was given a pot of water to drink by the women, a frog sometimes splashed out. The women laughed when I screamed.
“I am Firehair.” I said.
He wrapped a strong arm that felt like I was wrapped in solid granite wall, his bicep dug under my slim, soft white body. He nuzzled his face into mine like a cat hungry for warmth.
His face flashed with anger and his fist shook with rage and a stony certainty entered his voice. “You are very brave and beautiful to flee down the Wolf-River. I will not let them touch you. I will kill all the Fire People before I let a single drop of your blood be shed unjustly.”
I shivered in his grip like a newly born animal, thrilled to the marrow. I never had anyone that ever wanted to protect me. My father and mother died during a hard winter.
“You are Thangor?” I said. I had heard stories. Who else was his like?
“Yes.” He said.
I dropped to my knees worshipfully and looked down in reverence.
He sighed and groaned. “Not this again! Come up! I am a man of flesh and blood. Look! When I was young I wrestled with cave lions barehanded. Here one of them grazed me when I got too cocky. See?” He pointed to the single bar of light skin on his hazel eyes. “Cut me like a knife. I thought I lost this eye.”
He slid his warm hand under my chin and raised my face up to him as delicately as if I was made of eggshells. “You have startling sky-colored eyes. Never lower them to anyone.”
“I hear you have arrows that kill by magic.”
At this he laughed. “No! I found a certain leaf that no animals eat and I wondered why. I experimented with them and it becomes a sticky tar when burned, that kills when touching the bloodstream. I cover my flint arrows in this tar. See? No magic power.” He said. I never believed the story anyway.
“Come! I will take you back to the Wolf-People. I am their chieftain. None of them will hurt you. I will give you fruits and fine things to eat, and best parts of the ibex, auroch and deer.”
It was overwhelming he would make such a promise out of gallant compassion for an abandoned stranger, a powerless girl without a tribe. I would follow him anywhere he suggested. Only with his protection could I survive.
I nodded my assent gladly. To my astonishment, he grasped my waist and pressed my small body to his hard, dark one with just one arm as if I was weightless. He wrapped his deerhide quiver of arrows around his giant chest, and then put on his small orange and black tigerskin loincloth, a small, wispy and near-negligible scrap that bulged with the thick meat of his endowed third leg. It, along with his orange sized testes, popped forward so defiantly that his member could be seen to the side. When he moved, his thighs pushed his member from side to side. I could not help myself, but I caressed my small hands against the surface of his pectorals, which felt like solid rocks that had warm skin draped over.
He told me to wrap my slim arms around his neck, and in this way he carried me effortlessly like a possum. He leaped in a pantherish pounce into the air as fast as a shot arrow as he landed on a tree trunk. He ran at full sprint with startling balance as he used the branch as a springboard to propel himself into the air. He soared from tree to tree like a flying squirrel and landed on all fours in a crouch like a puma, and did not cause a single leaf on the tree to shake. I looked down and saw we were hundreds of feet above the air. With both hands free, he brachiated like an anthropoid, hand over hand, and moved as fast in the air as a dropped pebble. With his presence birds scattered and soared around us, Tangor kept pace with them.
I looked down and quickly regretted it. We were at nine times the height of a normal man above the ground floor. The ground blurred under us.
He slipped on a tree trunk as if it was greased and his muscular calves flexed as he hit the ground and absorbed the shock. Firehair barely registered a shock.
I saw the orange fires of the Wolf-People, a sight no one in my tribe ever lived to see. In the center was a stick with the skin of a wolf on it that marked their lands, and unlike my people, I was startled to see they did not live in caves, but made shelters out of hide stretched over wooly mammoth bones. It was much more sophisticated than my own tribe and seemed almost supernatural.
To my great surprise, the Wolf-People all looked nothing like Thangor. They were a light -skinned race like the Fire People. They were squat and dwarfish, and prone to male pattern baldness in the older men, very different from Thangor’s thick straight mane. None of them looked up.
Thangor set me down and he winked at me with mischief.
A pair of people moved from the fire to greet him. The first was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She was a creature of sheer allure, with white arctic fur skins that indicated she was a person of renown. Her hair was a similar color, so blonde it was almost pale white, and she had dark skin that was a cinnamon dark gold-bronze that contrasted strangely against it. She was curvaceous, slim waisted, with wide flaring hips and a buxom, top heavy and voluptuous upper body.
To my horror, Thangor kissed the blonde full on the lips with such startling hunger and suction that he pulled her thick lips towards his. I started to become dizzy. He already had a mate! How could I ever compare to this gorgeous creature?
No one but me noticed, but the light-haired woman gazed at me with an evil look that would melt lava, a savage look that meant she would claw my eyes out.
The second person that approached me was someone that, at first I thought was another woman, as he wore cured skins and seashell jewelry and did his blonde hair in a way she I the women of the tribe wear. He was a light gold skinned the way very pale people are the moment they have only a little sun, with an angular, girlish and almost femininely beautiful, beardless face. He was slim and short even by the standards of the tribe, yet with small, wiry muscles under his skin, noticeable only in comparison to other women.
Thangor grasped this small man, and lifted him in the air, in proportion like a child to an adult, and planted another kiss full on the lips, his dark body contrasted against his small one.
There was nothing unusual about this. Among my own tribe there were similar men that have female spirits inside them, and they are given the clothes and work of women to do. They could even be mated to men if they wanted it and would be called “wife.”
The young man in woman’s clothing gazed over and smiled a toothy grin at me. “Oh, Thangor my love – she’s so beautiful! Who is she?” He said, as he curled a little of Thangor’s raven locks around his finger.
I was so unaccustomed to receiving compliments that I assumed the man must have been making fun of me. I looked down. For a moment I thought the blond man-woman looked her up and down the way a man looks at a woman, though that seemed unlikely. I smiled back at him. He seemed very cute. Nothing like Thangor of course.
If I concentrated, I could understand the language of the Wolf-People, which was only slightly different in pronunciation from my own tongue. Many words that I did not recognize, I deduced from context.
It was then that men in wolfskins startled and scrambled to get their bows and arrows and ran beside us.
“See! Fire-People! Kill.”
Thangor’s hand shot as fast as a striking cobra to the neck of a warrior and lifted him effortlessly until his feet kicked at nothing but air, with a vice grip that could crush bone like rotten fruit. He tossed the warrior aside as if he was made of straw.
“No! She is mine. Any man that touches her will see their ancestors - tonight.” His voice was a bold, commanding roar. His powerful shadow fell over the men, and I could tell the Wolf-People’s warriors were cowed, and their genitals felt as small as raisins.
Only one of the men stepped forward, with a feathered fetish-stick and a headdress with two elk horns. He did not have the dull gaze of the men, but unblinking eyes with a gaze like a reptile.
“Beware, Thangor!” The horned man said. “You have banned us from stealing mates from other tribes. Now you take one yourself, from our deadly enemies?”
Thangor gazed back. “No man should take a woman against her will. But I say she remains with us.”
The warriors started to return and beside the magnificent body of Thangor they looked like pygmies. For a moment they wavered. It was like a cave lion confronting a pack of hyenas.
The white haired young woman stepped forward. She had a clear, crisp commanding voice. “The Crag-Ur is right. The Fire People are our foes. She cannot live among us.”
With the white-haired female’s commands, the warriors gained their courage and advanced on Thangor. It was obvious she had a greater command of them than Thangor did.
I looked and I did not see a single sympathetic face – except Thangor’s and the young male. I was used to being alone in a sea of people that mean me evil, and I refused to show fear, but instead I thrust my jaw forward defiantly.
The giant Thangor spoke again. “No! I will not abandon this one. If she returns to her people they will sacrifice her.”
The Crag-Ur – evidently the witch doctor, spoke. “Then she dies. If they mean to sacrifice her it would be unwise to interfere.”
Thangor’s nostrils flared angrily with a snort like an auroch’s. “You ungrateful fools. Who put the food you now have in your bellies? Me, with the new traps I made. You hated them the way you hate all new things…but you love the food they bring. I claim right of challenge! If any man of the tribe can beat me at anything – anything – I will give you the girl.”
“Bah!” The shaman said. “The challenge is for Wolf-People, not for accursed outsiders. You all have forgotten, but I remember because I am old and wise. A strange woman from unknown parts came to us, already with child. We kept her alive, as it is taboo to kill a pregnant woman. She gave birth to the Burnt One there and died shortly after. You do not have a single drop of Wolf-People blood.”
The white haired woman spoke. “Shut your craw, old man. He is my mate. That makes him chieftain and greater than all of you. It is perfectly his right to give a challenge.”
Why Thangor’s woman gave this defense confused me.
I watched with bated breath. Thangor was going to determine if I lived or died.
The first challenge was impossible enough: men brought a fine thick woven rope. At one end was Thangor, and at the other end were six or seven giant men.
At the beat of a giant drum with a deer shin, both sides began to pull!
The men groaned and grunted and scrunched their faces until they turned beet red with agony, but the rope did not give an inch under Thangor’s firm hold. His shoulders bulged like a sack full of rabbits and his biceps peaked as he began to pull, hand over hand. The group of six or seven men felt the rope slip and yank from their hands as if their palms were covered in oil. They reached back to steady themselves, but they were only pulled from their feet and thrown forward, one on top of each other as the rope was tugged from them.
I watched with exhilarated, open eyes. It seemed unbelievable that one man could have that kind of strength!
The young blond man-woman sat next to me. “Thangor is magnificent, isn’t he? I’m very much in love with him. There are worse things than sharing a sleep with him in this world, eh? I am Grak, Thangor’s second wife.”
“Greetings.” I wasn’t paying attention to him, and refused to pull my eyes from Thangor. I thought for a moment that Grak looked me up and down, but if so I missed it, too busy watching my champion, the hypnotic young black giant.
Thangor slapped his hands and steadied himself for the next challenge. A huge man stepped forward, hairy and burly. He was muscular, but his bulk was bearish and grotesque compared to the sleek, aesthetic form of Thangor. He slapped his hands together, and was startled to see that Thangor towered a full head above him, and that Thangor had far wider shoulders and greater mass to the point he felt downright puny. His eyes were wide with alarm.
The instant the drum was struck, Thangor leaped at him with a charge like a ram and the man was slammed violently as if by a bull, knocked to the ground as if he was made of paper. Thangor’s iron fingers shot to the man’s wrists, and the burly warrior was like a worm caught in the talons of an eagle, Thangor’s overpowering force turned his great knotted muscles to water. He felt tears welt up in his eyes from the pain and helplessness as he seemed unable to overcome Thangor’s giant weight. Thangor, his hold on his arm, lifted him up.
The men began to laugh.
The man’s undersized member stood at attention, stiff and erect!
Thangor couldn’t hold back a smile. He turned around until he faced the man, and pressed his own growing hardness against the man’s in a frot. Both of them groaned in hot release. Thangor’s enormous monster anaconda pressed against the smaller one with such intensity that it made the burly warrior scream with pain as Thangor’s much larger whopper won the contest. His little worm was no match for Thangor’s big snake.
The burly man’s member began to quiver and shake as he shot a blurb onto the ground before his penis went deflated and limp as a frightened turtle.
It was Thangor’s turn. He clenched the muscles that tightened his penis, and from his great head a voluminous spurt of seed came out in a huge globule that splashed beside the big man’s, in the mud, dwarfing it with a far larger release. And to everyone’s surprise, Thangor stayed stiff and at attention. His member’s erect pole length cast a shadow under it.
I cheered and joined the men’s laughter at the event.
All night there were more events. The next was a foot race. When the drum was banged, Thangor sprinted in front of the men with a blast as if they were standing still, his long strong legs a blur, pounding the ground for thrust that left his big feet’s imprints in the ground. When he came back, he was covered in a layer of sweat, whereas the men behind collapsed with exhaustion as soon as they passed the stone marker again.
It was the Crag-Ur that challenged the black giant to a riddle contest. This one took the longest, as both traded riddles back and forth. Thangor’s mental adroidness was quick. Even outsiders noted that it took the shaman far longer to answer Thangor’s riddles than Thangor did to answer his. Eventually, he stumped the wizard with a riddle of startling simplicity: what has more than ten legs and creeps? The wizard assumed it was a metaphysical concept, or some kind of metaphor. When Thangor reveals it was just a centipede, everyone laughed.
“He has a way to think outside the expected like this. I have a feeling this is as good as won.” Grak said. He pointed to the white haired woman. “It was Vana’s idea to have this challenge, you know. I don’t think she likes you…but Thangor is her husband.”
“What, isn’t Thangor chieftain?”
“Oh, no! I do not know how they do it in your wild and savage tribe,” with that he said that with a smile, “but with us, no man can be chief unless they are with the female with the rank of chief. It is only through females any male has any rank at all. He has no real power, and she has all of it. It is fortunate for you that Vana sees a threat to Thangor’s legitimacy. It is suddenly, ironically, in her political best interest now to keep you very much alive! You must have a spirit watching over you.”
“Well, thanks to that! I did not get the greatest reception in the world from her...”
Despite the circumstances, I still did not like Vana. At some level because I wished I was Vana and was envious the way a only a woman that thinks she is plain can have for a beautiful woman.
Vana stepped forward and strutted over by the remaining tribesmen. “I grow very, very tired of this. How much more will this continue? I declare this display over.” Her voice had the effect of a teacher quieting unruly children.
The men grunted surly assent.
Vana felt a corner of her beautiful mouth turn up in triumph. “Excellent. But the orange-hair sleeps alone – in the hut for unclean ones that break taboos. Not with us!”
Not with him, you mean, I thought.
Thangor roared in triumph. The young black god ran to me and lifted me above the ground with one huge hand as a seat. He threw me up in the air and caught me with huge arms. To my great surprise, he kissed me right and full on the lips.
His kiss was nothing like I expected. Instead of aggressive, it was with a soft, near-reverence and adoration that I had never experienced before. His tongue, huge, gave me a near-tonsillectomy, and after he was finished he planted a smaller one on my lips immediately afterward. He dove with me passionately until my back was near parallel to the ground. When he finished his kiss, I was near-dazed and stumbled slightly and had to hold onto a wall to steady myself, a giant grin on my face.
As the great central hearth fire began to die down, it was Grak that led me by the hand to the hut of the taboo.
I danced the whole way. It was the first time I ever felt desired and by an individual as extraordinary as Thangor no less. “Oh, isn’t he marvelous? He saved me. I’ve never been important enough to anyone to save before.”
Grak grinned in response. “He certainly is! If you have any trouble, come to me or her and I will, ah, talk to Thangor or Vana. You may not think so, but if I read her motives right, Vana may be your best ally.” Grak’s tone became quiet.
“You are also wonderful, Grak. You are a great friend to help me in this way.”
Grak smiled weakly. “Thank you. I shall see you tomorrow to show you the women’s work.”
As he left, I curled myself up on the floor. There wasn’t even a skin to drape over me. But in my time, I had slept in much, much worse places.
Thangor was practically floating on air. What a beautiful girl that Firehair was, and he saved her from sacrifice and certain death. He beamed with pride and had a spring in his step. And it helps that he put that rotten shaman in his place, too. Thangor at first feared him like everyone else, but now he came to the conclusion he had no real power over sickness.
He wanted to celebrate, with Vana, of course. Thangor was amazed at how lucky he was. Vana was easily the world’s most beautiful woman, and she was his. His ardor was immense; he felt his testes tighten and stir and he was as rutty as a cat. His sexual desire was constant. He needed sex at least a few times a day, with either Thangor or Vana, a side effect of the male hormones that pumped through his body that shaped and grew his gigantic frame.
Thangor opened the door to his hut and found Vana supine on the bed. She was the very figure of arousal. She clenched some of the animal furs and slid them between her legs wantonly. Her caramel-dark ass cheeks thrust up in the air and begged to be held and kissed.
As soon as he entered, Vana looked up with her smouldering blue eyes.
“Get out.” She said.
Thangor squinted. “Ah, what was that, my love?”
“Get out.” She said. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to make an outsider-born like you legitimate enough as chieftain? All without you doing stupid things like getting a member of our mortal enemies that followed you home like a stray wolf. It has set us back years, though I knew a challenge like that would redeem us a little, but still. Do you know how I worry about you when you do things like that?”
Thangor dropped to his knees and kissed her in the back of the neck. He moved in a hot trail up to her shoulders. “I am sorry. Please…please let me stay tonight.”
At first it looked as if Vana would melt into his arms. But her eyes grew cold again. “No. Do not touch me.”
The handsome black giant stepped away. His voice wavered. “Well, perhaps I could, ah, sleep in the taboo hut tonight.” He said that with a small voice, unable to disguise how he was wounded, and grasped a huge bearskin from the floor.
Thangor, with his strength, was master of men and beasts, but Vana was his master.
Grak was always different from other boys. He preferred cooking and gathering fruit and turning skins into clothing and making fire to rough games, wrestling, stone-knapping and the hunt.
He was identified as a woman-spirit at a very young age. The best thing that ever happened to him was Thangor. Thangor was only a few years older than him, but he towered over him. Grak loved to coo adoringly over Thangor’s growing, developing brawn and powerhouse frame.
Beautiful Vana was usually jealous of Thangor’s lovers, but no matter what soul Grak had, he was still a man below the waist. He was no threat to her position, because he couldn’t have Thangor’s son.
In a weird way, Grak respected Vana. How could he not? She was not only glamorous but a natural and formidable intellect that could beat Thangor at riddle contests. She was a survivor…everyone knew the story about how she used Thangor as a pawn to replace her first husband, the old chief, a grotesque old man that loved to beat her and killed her first child. Even today, she played politics without allegiance in order to stay on top. Grak thought Vana was the strongest person he knew.
And the sex…! Thangor was predictably insatiable and inexhaustible. Thangor was different lovers with different people. With women like Vana, a strong woman who didn’t respect a man unless he was a little rough with her, and him, he was similarly dominant, aggressive and masculine. Thangor loved to spank and bite earlobes and fist and make noises like mating cats. He wondered what kind of lover Thangor would be with someone as wounded and emotionally starved like Firehair. He would probably be, in contrast, gentle and supporting and loving.
There were times that Grak wondered what it was like to shoot an arrow or hunt, but not for a minute did he ever regret being a woman-spirit, until now, until the beautiful little Firehair arrived.
And she loved only Thangor! She probably only saw him as just another one of the girls. Surprisingly, that wounded his pride.
Grak could never stay angry at his husband, Thangor, for very long. He was magnificent sexual animal. Even thinking about him got his modest member to stiffen and lengthen between his legs.
But Grak loved him very differently. He loved Thangor as a heroic, masculine figure, and for sexual fulfillment.
By contrast, he found he loved Firehair for a different reason. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything was alright. He wanted to protect her and provide. He wanted to feel…dare he say it? Masculine. Is that how Thangor must feel? Though they lived together, he could never feel that way about Vana, who didn’t need anybody.
Firehair would never see Grak any other way until he was a different kind of person instead of a femmy man-woman. That night, Grak made a decision. He was going to talk to the one person he knew about being a man, Thangor. He would learn man-skills.
And Grak, being the intuitive sort, always suspected there was as yet some undiscovered secret to Thangor’s strength. He had no idea what it was, but he did know that Thangor often disappeared for long periods and did not say where he was.
He wanted Thangor to tell him.
To be continued