Bad Boy Romance: Bad Marine (Bad Boy Military Romance) (Alpha Bad Boy New Adult Contemporary Male Stories) (2 page)

I amused myself by using my tongue to flick at each of the mushrooms so I could feel the elasticity of their stalks and taste the distinct flavor and scent of their flesh. I probably got a ton of spores in my mouth, but I didn’t really care. I was having too good of a time to be concerned with mycophobic paranoias. Eventually, the tone of the violin slowed to a stop, and I fell into an unconscious state, naked and intoxicated, in the middle of my second masturbatory session.

The sound of the violin transferred seamlessly into my dreams except, within the dream state, it took on an orchestral quality and was supported by the sounds of countless voices, all singing in unison with the tone. The result was an overtone type situation with octave harmonics, which oscillated slightly one way or the other, causing a tickle to take place in my brain, right between my eyes. The environment around me melted for a moment, and it felt like I was swimming through a pond, submerged under water. When I gasped for breath, I found that I had emerged from the pond, and reality had assumed its natural lens, except the colors were more vivid than I remembered, and my head was heavy when I swung it from side to side.

It did not take me long to realize that I was dreaming, because the world had a swimming quality to it; everything appeared to be as it had been before, but there were additional variables within the ether that did not take place in regular reality. A light came down and lit on my nose, and as I strained my eyes inward to see what it was, a small object batted me on the forehead, and then the light flew away to encircle the tree.

The wood, which I recognized from earlier, was shaped like an exquisite penis, the knot of the wood forming the knob on the head, and the shaft smooth and unfettered by the rough bark, which collected at the base of the shaft.

My violin was here also, and it too had taken on a phallic shape; though, its presence was interesting because it was not simply a phallus projected into the air but a phallus which was being projected out from a vagina. The violin appeared as though it were a portal outward from the inside of some divine feminine province. The tiny fronds of grass were all animate, and the violets were shaped like violet stars with brilliant yellow bursts at the center of each. The colors were not fixed but blended into one another, the yellow to orange with a tinge of red and finally into a deep and rich purple color. The petals looked like wet paint, and I reached my hand out hesitantly in order to touch one. I was apprehensive because it seemed that, if I had actually pressed my finger to the petal, I would get paint on my hand and somehow harm the fragile cellular infrastructure of the plant.

The flower leaned in toward my finger, as if offering its consent, and when I touched the petal, I was not surprised by the color splashing off onto my fingertip, but by the sound of the voice of the flower itself.

“Silky woman, thank you for your nectar; pity that it was not your blood gift, but there are always times and seasons for that sort of thing. We are pleased that you could come. Thank you for the sounds.”

The voice was so straightforward. I smiled and removed my finger, watching the drip from the petal fall down to create new flowers wherever the ink invested itself.

A mushroom sprouted out the ground, in a slow and fragile way, exercising its form in a single pronounced unfolding, and I watched with my eyes wide in anticipation. A whole group of mushrooms sprouted beneath my pelvis and pressed my fingers in toward my body, using gravity to elicit a small trickle of fluid from within me. My shoulder dug into the ground, and I bit my lip. My fingers grasped at the dirt, and shafts of fungi sprang up within my reach, presenting themselves as silken handholds for my loose grip to caress.

The flush from behind became more concentrated and directed, as each head attempted to press toward my clit. I couldn’t keep my hand flush pressed against my body any longer, and I had to let them in. They stroked my body, and my pelvis began to be slowly pushed higher and closer to my torso, lifting me into the air with my legs prone and a majority of the weight on my left collarbone.

I breathed in the sweet scent of the earth and massaged the smooth interior of my vagina.

The trickle turned into a stream, a stream that rolled down my forearm to pool in my armpit and splash out around my shoulder. I turned my head to lick the cum and found that its taste was somewhere between sweat and honey, with an intoxicating element that I couldn’t quite identify. Another mushroom found its way into my mouth, and I sucked gently on the nipple of its cap.

The fruiting bodies around my pelvis began to grow more firm and more animate; they massaged themselves between my labia and tentatively penetrated my vagina by pushing my fingers to one side. Another pressed against my anus, and my entire body began to relax.

They began to take turns sliding themselves in and out of my vagina, and my toes clenched on the side of the ground, tearing clovers and violets from the earth in their clinging grasps. The mushroom pressed more firmly against my anus, and pushed its head up past my tailbone so that its stem was firmly placed between my cheeks.

I took a deep breath, and I swear I’ve never smelled anything so musky in my entire life. The realization dawned on me, as soon as the first sporulated sperm found itself onto my tongue, that I soon would be indistinguishable in scent from this multitude of loving fungi.

I took a small sigh and relaxed still further, rubbing my crotch on the pole, while being repeatedly and sensuously penetrated by the sentience of the mushroom patch.

Sperm started to leak out from my vagina, as load after load was deposited within me. The feeling was incredible. My vagina began to clench down on the mushrooms, and at one point, while orgasming, I contracted so hard that I popped all of the mushrooms out of my body and squirted cum out from myself to drench the withering fungi that passed from within my body. The dying mushrooms melted down on top of one another, and I was covered in sperm and an inky black liquid, which melted down to the ground and was once more absorbed into moss.

My spine cracked. My abdomen contracted, and my vagina felt good and fucked. I looked down and saw sperm dripping out from within me – I was in awe that the amount, though inconsistent in its dissemination, was relatively consistent. I imagined the inside of my body – my vagina and uterus – coated in golden, effervescent seminal fluid. I sighed.

“Good thing semen does not last long within the human body; I guess I have three days to fight it off”,” I thought.

I did not understand what I was thinking about at the time, but I was not exactly sure of the consequences of being inseminated by an entire patch of mushrooms. I turned to the tree, as if to pose the question, and I saw a woman leaning up on the erect phallus, which had presented itself to me earlier, along the root of the tree. The woman’s face was a mixture between a cream and a tan color, and her hair was green. Her eyes were brown, and her lips were an earthy pink tone. I wanted to kiss her, and I didn’t understand what the compulsion was.

I was lifted up from my place on the ground and held with one hand and one arm by each person, until four women were bringing me, body dripping in decomposed mushrooms and semen, to the tree for purification.

The sperm already dripping out of my vagina acted as a lubricant; otherwise, it seemed as though the penetration by the tree would have been uncomfortable. The opposite was actually the case. The tree bent and slid within my body like a real penis, and I felt no injury whatsoever.

The strangest aspect of uniting with the tree was that, instead of fucking me, the tree simply remained within my body. I could feel the pulse of its xylem and phloem on the inner walls of my vagina. My body twitched, and the attention began to spread out from my vagina to my core and my torso, down each of my legs, and to the tips of each of my extremities.

I thought for a moment about that awareness extending even to the hair growing out of my body. My attention radiated out, and my entire body began to share the same pulsing pattern as was present within the tree. That was when I realized that the women who had lifted my body and placed me on the tree were now licking my entire form, cleaning the seminal fluid off from my body with broad, refreshing swoops of their tongues. Their eyes were full and bright. I bid them thank you with a nod of my head and an offered kiss to the nearest woman. She smiled in an understanding way and brought my tongue into her mouth. The tongues of these women cleaned the inside of my mouth, my nostrils, my arm pits, and every inch of skin on my body I felt my legs being lifted into the air, and the same tongues graced the crevices of my body and the intersecting places where my vulva met my thighs. Hands and soft, considerate mouths bathed my nipples, and I could see my hair, animate and erotically entangled, braiding itself and unbraiding itself with the hair of the women who had gathered around me.

When the penis within me ejaculated, it was actually more like the light which the tree had collected from its leaves had been transferred down from the sky and was systematically pumped into my body. I felt a warm heat pulse through my body, and it seemed like photosynthesized light effervesced from every pore on my body, collected in a pool at the base of the root, which I straddled, and left me moaning the name of the ineffable. I held the trunk of the tree with all of my heart even though I could not fit my arms around its girth by several feet. My bare soles touched the rough bark along its roots, and the entire root system became as fluid and undulating as the penis inside of me had become. I settled down to the floor, and the penis of the tree flopped out from within my body, still spurting brilliant seminal light. I knelt forward and kissed it on the head, bringing the light into my mouth and swallowing.

My entire body had been purified, and I felt like a new woman. It seemed like I belonged to the forest now, except I knew that the light which had been transferred to me was not a possessive force but a liberating one. I did not belong to the forest, but I had been given an intense amount of love.

More love, perhaps, than I had ever experienced in my life.

Sexual love anyway.

The woman who had first beckoned me over to the tree knelt to place her head in my immediate attention. Her eyes were dark brown, and her smile was full of leaves and wooden teeth. She kissed me, and I expected it to be abrasive, or at least hard, but it was as smooth as living flesh.

“What is this place?” I thought to myself.

She spoke to me then, but I couldn’t understand her language. It came across in symbols which floated before my mind and then dissipated into the nothingness.

She was asking me a question, and the question pertained to whether or not she would be introducing me to someone. I saw him in my mind, and I felt a bit intrigued, but it was difficult for me to feel aroused, given that I had just been thoroughly fucked and was now in a state of complete relaxation.

The woman laughed.

“Silly human woman,” I imagined. “Silly mortal.“

There seemed to be insinuations as to whether or not a woman was ever truly satiated or if there was a somewhat perpetual state of arousal that was simply contended with, as an aspect of being a female.

The vision from the woman’s mind bled and transferred into the entire environment, like a curtain rippling out from a central location. Once my mind had completely passed toward the center of the silken veil, I found myself walking in an orchard alongside a naked and powerful man. I held my violin at my side and, upon realizing his presence, struck my instrument with a swift bow ring. The sound was clear and transcendent. Fruit spontaneously blossomed from flowers on the trees in our vicinity each time I played a chord on the instrument. I imagined semen spurting out from the top of the scroll and forming into a musical staff, complete with rhythm and notation. As the notes were played, they drifted off from the staff and joined the atmosphere. They became truly seminal and brought forth the fruit which I had earlier envisioned.

Each of our steps was a rhythm beat in the song, and I looked over toward his direction, noticing his hair move in the air as though we were both under water, each strand dancing. He was beautiful with such a strong jaw and immaculate, pointed ears. He was wild, and his complexion morphed constantly between a face that was marred with texture and markings and a face that was fair and without blemish. The markings on the face intrigued me, and so I focused on them, willing them to make themselves apparent.

He grew into a vampire, with a pair of bone pipes around his neck, and soon after that point, a second sound accompanied my stringed, creative ensemble. His hair was thin and ashen, and his smell was a confusing mixture of lily and formaldehyde. I wanted to stop playing the music and grab his hair, just so I could be sure the monster I saw was real. I saw his penis, and it was impressively large, even while flaccid. When the phallus noticed I had been paying attention to it, blood swelled within, and it became more full and enticing to hold – or place between my lips. All of these thoughts came out in our music, and I watched specters of ourselves dance and copulate through smoky illusions along our walk through the orchard.

Fear clutched in my heart, and I recalled the stories about this creature.

Did you really seduce and turn all of those women undead?

I asked.

The music stopped and fell to the ground. The trees in the orchard grew dark, and the fruit dropped and fell, wilted, to the ground, splatting to the floor and letting maggots out beneath them. The colors turned ashen, and the man grew very, very sad. His teeth shrunk into his head, and the velvet coat that had covered his body shed, not to be replaced by any sort of style again. He became small and quiet. Reflective and nowhere near as boisterous as he had been only moments before. All for the memory of a myth about the great Night Hunter.