Tototikli • 2


Tototikli · 2
A little erotic novelette by Redbud

  • More from my island fantasy. Feels like a throwback but it’s fun to write.

——-Personal Diary

November 2 1999

It’s raining off and on, which is really nice except for the mosquitoes.

November 3 1999

Thank God. Resupply. A new solar charger. New computer and batteries. No new cell phone. Medicine. Chocolate. Crackers. Vitamins. Cheese (which I will have to eat quickly). Paper. Etc…

Not as much E-Mail as I expected.

I E-mailed William about the European descendants among the islanders. They and I believe they are Miss Braithwait’s descendants. William sent me back a PDF of the historical records. On January 3rd, 1912, the Mary Stout, a British naval vessel, made land. The Captain of the ship was named Daniel Longman. They were inquiring as to the Ephrates and had also been given to believe that a British citizen, the anthropologist Elizabeth Braithwait, might be among the islanders and of assistance.

Captain Longman records that the Islanders brought him to the Westward lees of the Island, which are especially treacherous due to the shallow reefs. It was there that he was shown the wreckage of a vessel, all but one of its masts buried by sand. Captain Longman was quickly able to identify the ship as the remnants of the Clipper Ephrates. The islanders also directed him to some graves where they had buried some of the crew. The islanders informed him that Miss Braithwait had boarded the vessel (which had already been some two years before) but that a cyclone had destroyed the ship and had drowned Miss Braithwait. One of the grave markers, Captain Longman noted, had been recently tended by the Islanders – Miss Braithwait’s.

Captain Longman had the remains of four of the graves disinterred and confirmed the Islander’s claims. He was able to identify both the remains of Captain Devin and Miss Braithwait.

In response to William’s E-Mail, I immediately did two things. First, I returned to Braithwait’s notes but was disappointed to find the following:

June 1907

Upon our return to the village, we found that the wrath of the storm had destroyed much of the village’s structures. This was of little concern to the villagers. In a matter of days they had reconstructed their modest shelters. The children were playing as usual upon the white sands. The women had already resumed their daily discussions and laughter (I think that when I am not present, they turn to gossip). My relationship with Malaki is guessed at with much eagerness.

I am further amazed by the speed with which the men have carved new canoes from the fallen trunks of the largest trees. Within four days it seemed as if only fair weather had been visited upon us. We ate fish and fruit was plenty. There has been a sudden increase in mosquitoes and other biting insects and I seem to be especially preferred by mosquitoes. This has caused me considerable discomfort and for the first time in several months I greatly regret the absence of clothes. It is small consolation that the girls and women are comforted by fewer mosquito bites in my presence.

Alas, much of what I have lost cannot be replaced.

My calendar is lost, whether to the wind or water matters not.

Days begin to slow and without seasons to confer some semblance of time, a striking feeling of presence overcomes the mind. I find that my thoughts quiet and that my dread of abandonment (for I have ceaselessly dwelt upon the inexplicable disappearance of Captain Devin) begins to ease. Only this afternoon, and perhaps for the first time, I took a succinct pleasure in the emptiness of the horizon and its wondrously clear waters. I find much contentment upon its contemplation.

Though I might reasonably reconstruct a calendar, I see questionable utility in doing so. I fully intend to continue writing.

—- Note

I can find no dates after June 1907. The second thing which I did was to interview the islanders, but nobody could remember specifics about Miss Braithwait – that generation is long gone. I also went to the site of the wreckage. I saw signs of the graves but couldn’t find any wreckage. Some islanders tell me it’s still in the sand. Others disputed saying it was washed back out to sea not long after Captain Longman’s visit.

I will continue reading. I have separated the Dairies into Books 1 through 12 and have numbered the pages. I’m not sure what order they go in, but I’m sure it will make sense as I read them.

—- Book 1 Page 36

I yearn to feel Malaki’s embrace. In this alone am I tormented. I watch him hew the canoes with the other men. I cannot take my glance from his broad back and the strong muscles of his buttocks and thighs. They are powerfully delineated by his motions and cannot help but be reminded of the great sculpture Michelangelo. I yearn to touch and feel them. The darkness that hangs heavily between his legs torments my belly. He glimmers with sweat and I am parched for the thirst and salty taste of it (and the acrid taste of his core). My longing gazes have not gone unnoticed by the other women. I think they would tease me if they still did not feel some distance.

—- Book 1 Page 38

Only now, after so much time among the islanders, has a strange thing occurred. I have begun to look upon the memories of my own nation and people with cold, indifferent eyes – the eyes of an anthropologist. I have begun to question my assumptions, my surety, propriety, morals, and the long held standards of the civilization that shaped me. I have ceased to view the behavior of this people as primitive and unformed. Their behaviors begin to seem natural and the behavior of my past as, in some ways, aberrant.

—- Book 1 Page 41

Another storm. Hutiku, one of the elders, has not returned from fishing.

—- Book 1 Page 42

The islanders have found Hutiku’s canoe. It is the first time an Islander has died since my arrival. Hutiku’s children, all of whom were adults, grieved but not excessively. It was that evening that I observed a funeral (though Hutiku’s body was not found) and also an enactment of the very beliefs which I described earlier.

After nightfall, dry wood was gathered and a fire was started. Some herbs or plants they threw into the fire created a pungent and sweet smoke. I was not immune to the smoke’s effect, which seemed to posses a medicinal effect that reminded me of the odors from the less desirable quarters of London. The effect of the smoke was not unpleasant and seemed to affect the islanders similarly.

The villagers gathered in a circle and each told a story about Hutiku and by this means the story of Hutiku’s life was retold and honored. Some chanted their stories while others simply spoke. During this time the wife of Hutiku’s eldest son was brought to the center of the circle – Jiti. Jiti was stripped naked and painted in beautiful and elaborate patterns, the center of which was her belly – her womb. The men of the village decorated her and applied the paints so carefully and attentively to the most sensitive parts of her body that, in such a feminine state, she was too weakened to stand unattended.

The slender young woman laid an arm around the shoulders of two men, one to each side of her as a third, a fourth and a fifth continued to gently attend to her – to a woman’s most vulnerable anatomy (which will, in accordance with nature’s design, soon render the female defenseless and ready to procreate).

At the fringe of the circle, Hutiku’s son was being attended by an equal number of women. They too attended to a man’s most sensitive anatomy and painted him in the most elaborate designs, all of which swirled and centered upon his erect penis. The women’s attention was equally solicitous. Hutiku’s son, Oujita, tightly held the arms of the women who stood next to him. A third cupped his testicles from behind, as if messaging them and readying them. A fourth lightly stroked Oujita’s penis until small spasms would periodically cause his penis to bounce against his belly. I could see, flickering with the fire’s reflection, that the tip of his penis glistened and dripped.

At this site, the men gently lowered Jiti, Hutiku’s daughter-in-law, to her knees, parting them, then forward so that her cheek rested upon the earth and her sex was raised behind her. Her arms lay at her side as though she were in a swoon. I could see now that her sex was swollen, wet, and a sheen smeared her thighs. The meaning of her position, a symbol of human fecundity as archetypal as the erect penis, was obvious.

As I learned later, the Islanders believe that the departed spirit will be eager to rejoin his family and return to life. And it is supremely important that the villagers demonstrate their desire to welcome his return. Any delay is understood as dishonoring the spirit and discouraging his return. The story telling is meant for the “ears” of the spirit before it returns to the forgetfulness of a new life. This will be the last time the spirit of Hutiku will be able to reflect upon his life and see his accomplishments honored and celebrated.

The painting symbolizes the power of the woman’s womb and the man’s penis, which, when joined, are believed to embody the same creative force that created the universe (which divided itself into the masculine and the feminine upon the creation of the universe so that all life could recreate itself). The islanders believe that for the woman and man to experience orgasm, is to experience the creative act of the universe itself.

The chief of the Islanders began chanting, crying upon the spirit to rejoin his family.

The young man was led by the women until he stood behind Jiti. Then he was lowered to his knees. His cock quivered, fully engorged, just at his wife’s opening. The men and women continued stroking both him and his wife. Her eyes were closed as well as his. They panted. Their mouths were open as though on the verge of climax: she with her cheek on the sandy soil, he with his head thrown back.

It was then that the men and women tied both Jiti and Oujita’s hands behind their backs. It was surely symbolic for both the young people could have easily broken these bonds. Upon a signal from the chief elder, Oujita’s penis was placed at the entry to his wife’s womb and the two were slowly joined. This was done slowly so that neither might climax. Then the two were bound together with the same flowering vines so that neither could touch or move.

I have since learned the symbolism behind this binding. The islanders believe it is the entirety of the village which should invite an ancestor’s return. When the masculine and feminine force of the universe is joined together, the power of life and recreation is ready to be unleashed. At once, when the last vine had bound the lovers together, the entirety of the village converged on them, touching them, stroking them, kissing them. The chief elder continued to sing and chant while other danced.

Both Jiti and Oujita, because they couldn’t move and bring about their own release, shook with a tremendous strain and passion. Oujita’s muscles bulged in sharp relief. He panted and stared straight ahead. Jiti too, shook almost violently. Her small back was arched and she had lifted her head, chin on the sand, to gaze pleadingly ahead of her, waiting for her womb to be filled from behind.

The strong, pungent smoke continued to affect us all and the flickering of the fire, accentuated by the smoke, made it seem as though we were at the center of the universe.

The islanders believe that the departed spirit passes from the man, through his penis, and back into the woman’s womb to be reborn. I have since been told that the orgasms obtained during these rituals can be the most powerful the islanders experience and that some are given visions of the world’s creation during these orgasms.

I cannot answer to this claim but to say that when Jiti’s impregnation occurred, Oujita was like one who had been struck by lightning. He shook vigorously and stiffly with each orgasmic contraction and one can only surmise the quantity of semen deposited in the young woman’s womb. For her part, and as if by some miracle, her own completion seemed to occur simultaneously. As Oujita poured his essence into his lover (his testicles gently massaged,)Jiti’s own body rippled in perfect harmony. No cry escaped her lips, but her head and sex lifted in unison with the spurts of semen impregnating her.

I dare not detail the effect this ritual had upon me.

There was much laughter and joy after the ritual and throughout the night I heard cries of ecstasy. If Malaki had come to me that night I might have been lost (though I yearned for him). All that night my legs sleeplessly parted at the thought of him. Whether it was because of the smoke’s medicinal properties or simply my loneliness, I would have received a lover that night.

December 16, 1999

Problems with the computer, but not batteries this time. I continue to read Miss Braithwait’s notes and it’s like reading a mystery novel. Things don’t make sense. I’ve E-Mailed William who’s still convinced that the fair-skinned islanders are not Braithwait’s descendants. I’m not sure. Is it possible that Miss Braithwait was indeed drowned? Perhaps they believe she was reborn into the tribe? And yet this is no explanation for the fair-skinned descendants.

December 20, 1999

I took a break from Braithwait’s notes. They’re intense and I was starting to fantasizing about one of the islanders, a man named Nitibu. He is a little younger than me but is always curious about what I’m doing and especially about my computer.

Just yesterday he asked me why I wear so many coverings. He said he wants to see my nipples and poya (their name for a woman’s vagina). Why? I asked. Because he wanted to see if I was made the same as the other women. I didn’t know what to do, but I figured being “covered” was a bigger deal (to them) than being nude, so I undressed. He looked and looked at me. He told me to turn around so that he could see all of me. I did. When I was done his penis was erect.

I knelt to reach for my clothes.

His penis was at the level of my mouth. He smiled and left. He was laughing.

That made me mad.

It also scared me because I started imagining different endings to that encounter. Why did I let him tell me what to do? What would I have done if he had wanted something else? Is it because he’s male and I’m a female. Would I have done anything he told me because I’m a female, because he had a hard cock? The villagers were right outside. Nothing would have happened.

I E-mailed William saying I had doubts about staying but he scolded me. He said that part of being an anthropologist is learning to deal with loneliness. He believed in me and said I should believe in myself.

Humph.

December 25 2009

Just figures I would have my period on Christmas.

December 29 2009

It was incredibly hot today. You could close your eyes and feel the shade of a fly on your skin. I went to the inlet where the islanders go to swim. A younger couple was there. They were splashing each other when I first started swimming. Then the girl asked me if I wanted to play. I didn’t know what she meant but her boyfriend was right behind her. Then it dawned on me. They were having sex. The water’s really clear and I could see her legs were open under the water and I could see him moving in and out of her.

I masturbated as I watched them.

I had an orgasm. The girl totally knew. It was my first in about a week.

I’ve got to get a grip.

Latest Comments

  1. nilla says:

    I’ve held off reading until i had unbroken time to just absorb it.
    Once again, Will, you have managed to transport me to a tropical paradise, thrown back then forward into time.

    i am *loving* this! i sincerely hope you continue with it. It may feel “old school” but it’s being done so well…

    nilla

    • willcrimson says:

      Thanks Nilla,

      Once again I was just writing to Monocle. Maybe I should work on something else? I don’t think it’s as interesting or as good as the more “realistic” erotica. It’s erotic fantasy and not for everyone. But if you like it then that’s enough for me. I’ll work on the next chapter. :-)

  2. nilla says:

    I’m so glad! Ilove the historical aspect, the…entirely realistic breakdown of societal conventions, and going “native”…and i am loving that you are drawing such a growing, dynamic parallel from the past to the current day heroine.

    The details, especially the scene with the funeral and that whole idea? Great green goddess…that was fawking hawt. I was drawing shorter and shorter breaths…

    i guess that makes your work breathtaking, in this compellingly told tale.

    i will hunger for more.

    nilla

  3. Aiona says:

    I need to remember to have a box of Kleenex ready when I read your writing. Gah!

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