Masculine, Alpha, Nobility
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Colonel Abrams Trapped
Houdini can drink my ball sweat as I have got his number. I have become something of a dab hand at escapology over the years, it is an act which has saved me more times than I care to recall, enabling me to breathe when my lungs have been leaden with despair. In such instances I vacate, relocate and refocus as I now possess the tools to do so unfettered. Pressure is not something I cope well with traditionally or, at least, not when the duress is extreme. I place myself under all sorts of pressure with my work, working almost twenty hours a day to the strict deadlines which I set myself. That’s fine by me as the only person I’m responsible for is me…myself…I. Call it male pride and you may receive a prompt high-five but it’s never to impress others, purely stabilize my own vessel. Preservation is key you see.
With Keeper, you get out what you put in. If you bring stress then I scurry back into the shadows and remain there indefinitely. I’m never far away, always lurking with intent, despite the fact that you may not receive visual. In such an eventually, I ask that you take comfort from my prose as my intent is there in neon lights for all to see. Let that reassure you that Keeper is transient even when not palpable. If I enter into such shadowy thrift, then be aware that this shall reap the ripest of fruits from my prose as I’m completely free. Understand the way in which I love as it is not as complex as it appears. I do it openly, I trust implicitly and only ask for belief to be a two-way affair. Hopefully the integrity that has gotten the Grueheads to the cusp of immortality is enough to ease minds.
If I say I love you…then invariably I love you. No word of lie and it is said that the average male tells just over 1000 lies a year. True as the case may be, and I reckon it’s a mistruth, the terms aren’t applicable within this scribe’s work. I tell no lies, may choose not to offer up information freely, but will never back away if asked directly. The bonds I form with fellow Grueheads are entirely unique and that is what makes our love unconditional. I learned to adapt of my own aptitude and facilitate such through any interaction. How much I need to contort my natural shape depends on the recipient of my affections. With certain souls I am home; there are sanctuaries available wherein no judgement calls are ever necessary. These are my healing temples, fonts of replenishment where my soul can bleed on its own terms.
If you have my mind; then you have all of me, my unwavering attention. There I seduce. I may make love with my body but I fuck with my mind. It has become clear to me more as I carve deeper into myself that my brain is a thing of grand complexity. I’m comfortable with that; plenty of ways to self-efface, even the scores so to speak. Here’s one: Before I learned the art of self-pasteurization, when my loins yearned for enlightenment or some divine intervention, I used to sit abreast the ledge of my bedroom window completely naked. I found this to be a most freeing endeavor and would recommend it openly, although perhaps not if you live on a busy estate.
Here’s another truth for you Grueheads. I recall my first defilement with great lucidity. The primary grope of my soldier was in the company of two others but I skulked in the foliage of darkness. My friends were zipped into sleeping bags beneath my pedestal as I had managed to snag myself the only available sturdy hammock in the barracks. We’d watched some low rent porn, practically 75 minutes of missionary to be honest, but porn nonetheless. Adolescence was still rearing at the time but I’m fairly sure both my associates already had a running rapport with their own members. Not I however, this night offered tuition with a full power point of all the nearest available exits and exact positioning of drop-down oxygen receptacles. Armed with my freshly absorbed intelligence and a member full of want away ejaculate, I set off on the first of many penile pilgrimages. Minutes, possibly four, passed and I felt something change inside me…something missing…something I couldn’t retrieve.
Innocence soon turned into sinfulness and my balls began to emit their essence into my shaft’s basement. Tensing more now, asshole contracting, sheets firmly clenched and biting at air like sky-diving wind-up teeth, I soldiered on. Fuck innocence, my stocking had been wilting away the last couple of Christmases since my father got ill, and Santa hadn’t given a fuck so I was all set for carnal pleasures and a significant step towards manhood. After pulling the pin from my honey-basted frag; the only thing left to do was to lob. Lob I most certainly did, fuck, did I lob. That sticky grenade went off like a glass of lactose on a sun lounger. My fingertips discerned the ectoplasmic residue and I was startled at the radius. Splash zone was vast, dense, ambrosial, and free.
Any attempt at damage limitation beared no fruit so DefCon 2 was facilitated. I glooped some up in my cradled palm and greased the magnolia wall to my left. I had no idea as to the properties of this stuff, consistency, or even washing instructions. I was in the dark in more than one sense of the word. Sliding my digits across the structure alleviated me of much of these decadent excretions but still I felt as though I had just fisted a xenomorph. The room was deadly silent and the sound of me biting through my own face in abject horror hadn’t aroused interest. Looked like I had the green light, sure my tummy had began to crystallize, and a second smaller burst had glued me to my underwear. But I had cum, finally unleashed my monster and let it roar, albeit silently. By dawn I was first out of bed and my first thought: How about that wallpaper? This ooze had mystical properties and hadn’t left a solitary trace which led me to believe that my cock may well have been a magic marker of sorts. My second consideration was from my freshly birthed sinful side and consisted of one word on perpetual loop…NEXT!
If you haven’t already sensed the theme to the Escapology Edition then allow me to illuminate once more…it’s all about me. This man standing naked before you each dusk, revealing slithers of his soul, is not culpable of many of the crimes committed by his brethren. We exist but are few; gentlemen I mean. Understand our delicate minds and you shall release benign toxins capable of loving unconditionally. Sure, I’m a sinner. I’m a rather tasty one at that. But my sins are never intended to provoke, only ignite and excite. I’m not going to run off and “marry the night” as we are more than content with living together in sin. No requisite for pre-nups as we give and take what we need from each other. Dark vitamins, not capsuled supplements but toxic tabs not discernible to the naked eye. I lurk back from the shadows each time I crave light and I do so habitually to share my findings with y’all. My blood…my cum…my sweat…my tears…my cum…..my cum. They say men have one-track minds and, to that, I have only response…choo choo! All aboard.
Any self discovery I present without procrastination; my memoirs are vast and all stored away within the Crimson Quill. Fragmented shards of hope, my first kiss, my first erection, first black eye, first hamster, first and only three-way to date. Some of these topics have already been breached and more than once, from differing vantages, but others are as yet traversed. For as much as it may appear I wish only to escape; it’s the moments we share that provide me the true getaway, from myself no less. Without our interactions, I would never have found the tools to drag myself through the past few months so believe me when I say that they’re truly precious. And never invite me over for a sleepover.
Sin to escape,
Keeper of the Crimson Quill
Copyright: Crimson Quill: Savage Vault Enterprises 2013 (Revised Edition 2015)