When we arrived at the spot for this final ceremonial act, there was a new piece of idolatry installed at the focus point. It was an odd shaped sort of lounge-chair with a sideways-S shaped sort of depression, and semi-circle cutouts at both sides near the top, and at the bottom and top as well. Halfway through, it splayed out with two shortish cantilevers, each of which was bent in half. It was about 5 feet long, and looked almost brand new, yet also ages old. It was carved from some sort of highly polished wood, with arcane carvings inset along the sides. I could scarcely fathom how it was to be used in this bacchanal until a few of the attendant girls motioned for Tess to sort of climb aboard the thing, and then it all fit together. Her torso rested on the main part, and her legs fit over the cantilever thingys, bent at the knee. It looked, if you ask me, supremely comfortable, as you could just sort of lay there and not be subject to the vagaries of gravity in either direction.. Check them… Random lay. Faltering good-girl. Off-limits student. Partner’s venial girl-pal. All of them I might have fucked. Tonight – in this nether nirvana – I have done, without a smidge of conscience to compromise my fun. So that’s what that feels like. Wanking past the zenith of my joy, I douse this seething, famished fuck-pile one more time, raining sperm – hot and thick – upon their tits and cunts and hungry lapping tongues. Pelting and plastering all with evidence of my dubious, heart-felt love.Then as I fade, completely now, the Ghost catches me in her spectral arms and lays me down to a final well-earned slumber.I open my eyes. My cell-phone’s alarm is its unremarkable self – no cockerel sound-effects today. Sunday that is, 9am. Normal wake-up time. All’s normal, nothing other. No girl in shorts upon my bed, no cerulean blue portal. Just me… and my full-length bedroom mirror.It bears a cherry-lipstick scrawl – Bikini Boston’s colour. I climb from bed, naked and aching, and.
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