Tototikli • 1

Tototikli · 1
A little erotic novelette by Redbud

  • While much of the description is pure fiction, some of it is inspired by what I’ve read about sexual behavior among aboriginal and indigenous cultures. Bottom line: Enjoy the story is an escapist and exuberant erotic fantasy.  It’s also a work in progress. I may return and make alterations and descriptive improvements as the story develops. Call it a first draft. Please read it as such and I hope it’s as much fun to read as it is to write. And I had to add a new category to our blog: Romance.

———- E-Mail

Aug 2, 1999

Dear William,

I have just recently arrived at the island. Most of the islanders are dark-skinned, but I was surprised that some were fair complexioned and spoke English, though not fluently. One was a young woman in the first blush of womanhood, though several months pregnant. She was quite beautiful and scantily clothed and showed no timidity when she saw me arrive. She claimed that she was the great-granddaughter of a woman like myself  who was also an Apogicqua (anthropologist).

Although she did the translating, I could see she had lighter-skinned brothers and sisters who listened intently when I spoke. I guessed they too understood English.

She showed me stacks of notebooks, very old, that had belonged to her great-grandmother. She said that the islanders worried that their way of life would be threatened by the Irmaqui (outsiders). They worried that the youth would lose interest in the old ways though I have yet to see any evidence of trade or modernity. In the notebooks, she said, her great-grandmother had recorded the history and ways of the islanders. For many years they had been kept secret, but she feared it would be better if the secrecy were lifted or at least preserved.

I assured her that the island was not only protected, but virtually unknown. But she insisted.

I write this E-Mail but ask that you continue to exercise discretion. I continue to think the location and tribe’s culture will survive the less that is known about it. I am optimistic. The first thing to be said for the island is that many would consider it a paradise. It is beautiful and food is abundant. The water is as clear as glass and the reefs are undisturbed. The beaches are as white as snow, just like you described, and the fauna is nothing if not incredible.

William, I have to thank you again for selecting me and trusting me. I don’t know why you chose me when there were other more qualified and older candidates, but I won’t let you down.

September 6 1999

Dear William, thank you for your response. I have been reading Breathwait’s materials but some of the papers have been damaged. I am as shocked as you to discover the material. I hope all is well. I have tried calling you but my cell phone batteries have failed. And there’s a problem with the solar panels.

———- Personal Diary

October 12 1999

I have been as sparing in my use of the computer as possible but it’s unusable until more supplies arrive. Perfect storm. Nothing works but William tells me this is typical. He has urged me to continue reading the materials until new supplies can arrive. The islanders have never shared it before.

October 30 1999

I’m beginning to suspect that the fair-skinned islanders may be descendants of the brilliant, young Ms. Braithwait, though William had told me that she died with the crew of the Ephrates.

November 12 1999

The resupply still hasn’t shown up but I can almost forget. These people are so beautiful. We have so much to learn from them. They succumb to petty squabbles, little jealousies, gossip and rivalry, but they are entirely different in two respects. First, they never developed a concept for death. They’re not bothered by death and don’t even have a word for it. The absence of such a concept also means they don’t have a god or gods. The idea of a god or gods seem entirely foreign to their way of thought and I’ve been careful not to introduce these ideas..

The sun dies every evening, they say, but who mourns for it? It returns. So it is, in their experience, with every plant, fish and animal. When an elder dies, they claim to recognize the elder in the eyes of the next newborn. When I ask if any of their children remember their previous lives, they laugh at me again. The palm bears fruit because it can’t remember that it has already done so. We forget, so they believe, so that life will be new and fresh – so that we will bear fruit with each lifetime.

Which brings me to the second way in which they differ from us. They’re completely uninhibited sexually. There is no dominant or submissive sex. They’re guileless – like adolescents. Sex is like breathing. It’s a part of every day life and they make no effort to hide their arousal or couplings. They can be very tender, but playful too. Their loin cloths are very basic. In a tropical climate, like other cultures, clothing is unnecessary. The young men regularly display erections as their interest in women develops. They will go about their daily tasks with their penises fully engorged – though not without some vanity.

When they develop an interest in a woman, they will wait until they have her attention. Then they will masturbate. The speed with which the man ejaculates and the distance of his ejaculate is considered a sign of a man’s appreciation, virility and worthiness. On the other hand, I have seen some young women, if their suitor’s orgasm isn’t timely enough, feign a loss of interest and turn away as if insulted.

(I’ll be mortified if any man does that to ‘me‘.)

Women believe that the stronger the man’s ejaculate (the more deeply they are inseminated). The more deeply they are inseminated, the stronger will be the children. The size and length of a man’s penis is also important, but seemingly not so important as the distance of his ejaculate. I have seen women occasionally compete for a male with especially powerful ejaculations. It would be incredibly embarrassing if it weren’t so natural to the islanders.

Whereas a display of material wealth or property entices females in other cultures, it is the quantity and strength of man’s ejaculation that is considered a sign of his desirability among these women. I think, as you might suspect, that men place more importance on this ritual than women (who, at times, seem more amused). And I’ve noticed that these ritual displays, by men, are frequently more successful if preceded by gifts of other sorts.

December 25, 1999

Still no resupply.

January 3, 2000

It’s been several months since I’ve heard from anyone.

I am only the second anthropologist to visit this culture since the presumed death of Ms. Braithwait – whose field notes I am just now reading. I wasn’t prepared for the effect of this culture’s sexual mores. Maintaining a professional detachment has been a challenge. The arousal has been a constant torment. I’m beginning to regret my age and eagerness to obtain this study. And I’m feeling some sympathy for Ms. Braithwait.

March 1, 2000

This afternoon, as I was squatting to urinate, Faliffa squatted facing me, eager to discuss my habit of note taking. Why do I? What is it for? She is young and bubbly. Her mate had been erect for most of the afternoon and had been eying Faliffa at every opportunity – something which had not gone unnoticed by Faliffa and which she took enjoyed. As I have written before, while the culture’s sexual mores are very different from ours, they are still human. Some couples are monogamous. Some aren’t. Some men and women are possessive of their mates while others are not.

Faliffa seems to deliberately taunt her mate. The effect is to ceaselessly arouse him. I couldn’t help the feeling she shows off his penis – making sure other women saw the effect she has on her mate. He will spend half the day erect. Some days she will taunt him until she disappears with a squeal. Her mate will reappear flaccid and calm. She will reappear and her thighs will be streaked and glistening for the rest of the day. It is like a game to them.

Her mate’s opportunity came as she squatted across from me. She had not even finished urinating when he surprised her by squatting behind her, pressing her forward so that her feet remained flatly on the ground. She gasped. I saw his cock open and enter her in the easiest way. She inhaled sharply as she was filled by him, but smiled too. I caught her hands in mine. She had not expected her mate’s suddenness. The ease with which he entered her convinced me she must have been as aroused be her taunts as her mate.

She made no effort to stop him, but moaned and exhaled with every thrust.

The pleasure must have been exquisite. Her gaze was half-focused though, even so, she seemed interested in my reaction. At that moment, I confess, I would not have resisted had I also been mounted from behind. My heart raced as I watched her. It was all I could do to resist reaching between my own legs. The speed of her mate’s thrusts increased as urine still dripped from her. With one last thrust, met on her part by a high pitched gasp, I saw the twitching at the base of his penis. He withdrew from her slowly and at length drops of semen mixed with urine in the dirt beneath her.

Their coupling was swift and effective.

She glanced between my legs, saw my arousal, and smiled knowingly, satisfied that I was not so different from her. I masturbated that night. I’m beginning to be scared and a little lonely. I miss contact.

September 21 1999

I have read enough of Ms. Braithwait’s notes to understand what happened. I have tried to piece together a larger narrative. I don’t know why the resupply hasn’t come. In the meantime, I’m rewriting this information to save it from the rot that threatens the original notes.

What follows is copied from her notes:

———- From the Field Notes of Miss Braithwait

June 8 1906

Having arrived 2 years ago, I continue to be both repulsed and strangely drawn to the sexual proclivities of the islanders. If the Christian Missionaries were to discover this island, they would find a people most sorely in need of moral instruction. My training as an anthropologist, however, precludes any such possibility or invitation. The Christian Missionary’s compunction to reshape men in their own image would destroy this fragile culture.

June 12 1906

The elders have assigned a young man named Malaki to be my guide. I was told that he is eager to learn English.

August 1 1906

I find that I’ve grown accustomed to the appearance of the islanders. Malaki is striking in appearance and laughs frequently. I have seen that he is very kind and especially good with the children. He also brings me little gifts knowing that I like seashells, fruit or a vegetable. He calls me Tototikli, meaning My Tiny Pearl (because I am very small, my skin is white like the pearl, and because he says that pearls are the most beautiful treasure in the ocean). The women instructed him in the making of a shell necklace (with much humor), which he gave to me.

September 10 1906

There is much to learn from this culture. I have yet to witness the kind of violence one might occasionally expect and I have become shockingly inured to the procreatory rituals of the islanders. I have long since been forced to surrender modesty to the necessity of tropical heat. I turn twenty-one today and have quietly celebrated.

December 4 1906

Malaki continues to bring me little gifts. I am thankful for his good humor and company. Sometimes he offers to take me to the places where he finds the treasured oysters or clams of the islanders but my own propriety forbids my accompanying unchaperoned.

January 10 1907

Today I suffered much from loneliness. I yearn to taste the sweetmeats with which I’m familiar. The overdue return of Captain Devin has begun to cause me much consternation.

March 30 1907

Malaki is a tall and distractingly beautiful man.

April 3 1907

Malaki continues to display no interest in the younger women. There has been some rumor that he is a Kaikaitikoki – a man who loves men (who are considered seers by the islanders). This had caused some twitter among the younger women… and disappointment. His penis is among the largest I have beheld among the islanders – and it shall remain beyond my capacity or desire to compare his dimensions to that of my native country.

April 15 1907

Another bout of loneliness. I have almost ceased to search for Captain Devin. The horizon always and ever the same.

April 19 1907

Today, as I assisted the women with the preparation of oysters, Malaki fell to his knees some feet from me. He leaned back and his penis arched proudly upward. It will be to my eternal shame that I did not avert my gaze – and this for the first time. It is not healthy or normal for a woman to be so isolated, as I have been, from the company of her own nation and people. It has been four years since my arrival. Some blame must accrue to the failure of Captain DeVin to return in a timely manner; and I have grown increasingly fearful that some mishap has prevented him. To any future auditor of these notes, I must confess to the weakness of fear, loneliness and, perhaps, the natural inclinations of my age and womanhood.

I did not look way.

With two short motions of his fist, I saw Malaki shudder and the most beatific expression upon his face as he gazed at me. Then the long white expulsion of seed from his body. His large penis shuddered with each expulsion and I could not turn my gaze. I am ashamed. My stomach fluttered and my nipples hardened. I am thankful that my reaction was concealed by what little was left of my clothes. His ejaculation fell to the earth between my feet, a distance of several feet, like an offering.

(I trust that these notes shall be burned if Captain Devin should reappear.)

I could smell the scent of him, mixed with the salt and sand; and when he slowly rose I could not turn my eyes from his gaze. I have read of the spell which savages may cast on the unsuspecting. I felt as though I had no will of my own. If he had desired to mount me, I would have permitted him. I now think that it was my feminine nature, my loneliness, my yearning for more than simple company, that allowed me to be beguiled and subdued by such a masculine and primitive display. I have never before felt such compulsion to submit myself to a man or in such a shameful manner.

If I had not become so accustomed to the ways of the islanders, I would have been horrified by this display.

Though I think of them as a a separate people, I was reminded today, that in the eyes of one, at least, I am a potential mate.

April 15 1907

The elders must have spoken to him. Malaki has not approached me again.

I pray for Captain Devin’s return every day even as my body is strangely tormented by the remembrance of Malaki’s display. I think that I can smell the scent of him at every turn and, answering that scent, an incessant heat inflames my belly. It was especially humid yesterday. By evening the wind was as fearful as I have ever experienced. The islanders gathered anything of value and we hurried to higher ground. By nightfall I shook with a horrible fear. I have never experienced such a terrifying phenomena and shall hope never again to witness such wrath. I screamed and sobbed. A  tree thundered to the earth and nearly struck some of us. Malaki, gentle as ever, held me in his arms until sunrise. The women were especially solicitous and protective when they saw my fear of the cyclone.

June 7 1907

I have given up hope of Captain Devin’s return. This has, oddly, bestowed upon me a strange sense of freedom. The last of my clothing is succumbing to the oppressive humidity that quickly consumes all things – that and the innumerable insects which find reason to feed or nest in the tapestry of a linen dress. While I have grown somewhat accustomed to my near nudity, I am all the more tormented by the belly-heat which such nudity occasions.

June 9 1907

He torments me. May heaven forgive. I had attempted to find seclusion. But some part of me must have known. In seeking the seclusion of one of the islands many estuaries and bays, I discovered Malaki. He has grown taller and stronger and his skin is that beautiful brown which, in my first weeks, repulsed my sensibilities. He saw me just as I saw him.

He smiled, then returned to the task which I had interrupted. He reached above him, into the branches, taking eggs from low nets. Not all the eggs, but the islanders consider the small blue and mottled variety a delicacy. My heart raced. I could not take my eyes from this man. I could not take my eyes from his shoulders, his powerful arms, his narrow waist and least of all, from the heavy fruit which was growing erect and jutting upward. He pretended not to notice me, as his elders must have instructed him, but the flesh rising from his legs betrayed him. I felt the tug of that flesh in my belly, and my heart yearned. I could not breath.

I might have turned, then, and saved myself but I saw that his work slowed, then gradually stopped, and he gazed at me, his powerful hands still above him. My hand fell between my legs and I touched such heat and wetness, pouring from my womb, as I had never felt before. He surely understood my gesture. His gaze dropped to my breasts and hips and I knew he waited.

I ran.

I ran though the underbrush threatened to cut my feet. I ran through the webs, broad leaved palms and the vines. And when I reached him my lips fell on his breast, on his nipples, on his arms. I felt tiny next to him. I pulled his mouth down to him and tasted his lips and his tongue. I smelled the heat of him under his arms and the rich scent that was pressed hotly between us, feeling impossibly large against my abdomen. I wanted to smell, taste, and touch every part of him. I felt him shaking, just as I was. Then he turned me round so that I faced away from him. Pressed me against him. He easily removed the last of my clothes, not carefully, but tearing them off – first revealing my breasts, then tearing the remains of my dress from my hips as though to reveal me for what I was, finally, a woman like the other women of the island. I reached upward, behind me, locking my fingers around his neck. I couldn’t breath.
I was naked.

His hands explored me: my nipples, the softness of my breasts, the round of my hips and finally, the ready wetness and heat between my legs. I cried out and sunk me teeth into his arm with pleasure as he explored the folds of the woman he had desired for so long. I… to have been untouched for so long! What human would condemn or judge me? My body cried out for its birth right – to be adored by a man, touched by a man, possessed by a man.

I felt him bend me forward, bending me over. He prepared to mount me. What little remained of my senses returned. I spun to my knees and feverishly took him in my mouth, relishing the heat and taste of him. He looked down at me with surprise but soon his huge fingers were carefully entwined in my hair, guiding my movements. I thirsted for him. I wanted nothing more, at that moment, than to taste the core of this man, his essence, and take it into myself. I wanted to take in some part of him. I wanted nothing more than to see on him that beatific expression that had bewitched me. I wanted nothing more than to be the source and cause of it.

I cannot express the satisfaction and tenderness derived from this giving.

And I saw him succumb. His giant organ burst in my mouth. He roared and arched his back as I took his essence into my mouth. I overflowed. My breasts and abdomen dripped with him. I swallowed as if I were drinking the core of his being – tasting of the salty air and sea. Then he smiled at me and he said, in his language: “Now I wish to drink your juice Tototikli.”

I gasped when he effortlessly lifted me up and, as if he were drinking water from a shell, he held me so that my legs were draped over his broad shoulder and my back rested in his powerful arms.

His lips and tongue kissed and lapped at my sex.

I gradually stiffened and my breathing grew shorter and shorter. “Yes, my tiny one,” he mumbled, “it is your turn.”

And then I screamed as I never had. My body stiffened and released as a pleasure I had never felt before caused me to helplessly rise from his arms the way one plucks the strings of an instrument – again and again. When I had grown limp, he gently and tenderly lay me on the ground, then lay down next to me. I wept.

“Why do you cry?” he asked me.

I couldn’t answer. There were too many reasons. Release. Pleasure. Fear. Regret – the knowledge that this could not be. That what I most desired, deeply in my womb, could never be; would bring scandal and shame upon my family. I cried at the thought that I might have to leave this place and I cried at the thought that I might have to stay. Our bodies were wet with our exertions and yet I reveled in the smell and pungency of our love making.

“You are tiny,” he said to me in his deep voice, “but you are strong, like a pearl.”

I curled into a ball and fell asleep in his arms, exhausted as he stroked my hair. Lost.

To be continued….

Latest Comments

  1. AtALoss says:

    I didn’t know I’d wanted a “Romance” category, but you’ve certainly made me aware now! That was … dear me, you’ve managed to bring me to a loss for adjectives! Thank you, again, for your efforts.


    • willcrimson says:

      Thanks AtALoss. This story isn’t my usual fair and I was beginning to think it was a “dud”. Still might be… but I’m glad to know you liked it. I’d hate to continue a story no one liked.

  2. nilla says:

    oh gosh. oh my. it was…breathtaking. I love the form of it, the journal entries, the setting…all.

    very romantic, and yet compellingly sexy.

    i’m sitting in a pool of my own pearl juice.

    i beg you, please, to continue on…


  3. Phocus says:

    Beautiful…and now to ease this hardness.

  4. vanillamom says:

    The other day i was swamped with errands, and as i was in traffic my mind wandered and i was thinking about this story…

    funny that this comment came up shortly afterwards…now there are two compelling voices in the wilds calling for “moar….”


    and me so behind on reading *every-damn-thing*….dontcha hate when vanilla life takes over everything?


  5. Aiona says:

    “And I had to add a new category to our blog: Romance.”

    A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. It gets such a bad rap sometimes, I think. “Romance” does. But one doesn’t need to recognize it for what it is to enjoy it, methinks.

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