Another little offering
For those of you who might be curious, this is not, in fact, autobiographical. It's more of a myth/folktale than anything else. It's just a little newer than most.
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There once was a story, about the Many and the woman who he loved.
The Many was afraid, you see, because he knew himself, and he knew that within him was savagery and cruelty and all manner of ferocious things, and the women who he loved, who had captured his heart and crept into his dreams and set his imagination alight and had gained the affection of every single one of his parts was a delicate creature, and easily crushed, and surely would be easily afraid. He drew within himself, then, and did the thing that was hardest for him. He gathered together all his many parts and forced them within his skin, so that they could not bite her and would not make her afraid, and so he went to woo her, a writhing mass of warring creatures within an unyielding shell
And when he came to her, he beckoned her, and she looked at this sculpted perfection of a man, and the control with which he bore himself, and the animal glinting, deep within his eyes, and when he beckoned her, she followed.
Deep within his lair, deep within her most secret places, they joined, as man and woman, and she knew a man like none she had ever known, and he was party to such pleasure, both in giving and receiving, that he could not help himself, and portions of his being began to escape the cage he had made for them. Their coupling was a beautiful and violent thing, and she learned to love the knowledge that he would never hurt her, no matter how his inner demons rode him, and the delicious fear that there was a chance she might be wrong.
And when they were done, and spent, and sated, she ran her hands and eyes across his skin, and drank him in, and feasted her senses upon him, and as she did, she found a place where his rigid shell had thinned. Even as she watched, his hunger nosed its nose into the light, empowered by its evocation.
"What is this?" she asked him, "For I have never seen a man whose parts sought egress through his skin. It is new. I think I like it."
"Still," he said "do not touch it, for it is feral, and may bite."
"Nothing that cute cannot be tamed." She said, and sought to tame the long nose and fang-ringed mouth that sprouted from his back, and though it was Hunger, and not normally a thing easy to tame, it loved her, as did all of his parts, and so for her it was soon gentle and playful. It helped that she gave it food, and as she did, and tamed it in other ways, it came further and further from him, until the wound closed behind it, and it was free. "May I keep it?" she asked. "It is adorable, and I will treat it well."
It was a portion of him, but that portion was happier than ever it had been, and he could not bear to deprive it of her company. He gave his consent, and so when she left his Place for her own, she took his hunger with her.
It was strange to live without hunger, at first, but he came to like the freedom of it, and the hunger that had left him was indeed treated well, and lived with her whom he loved, and he began to relax, just a little. Surely, if his hunger did not perturb her in its purest form, then he need not fear revealing more of himself. Thus it was that when he next walked the world and beckoned her, and they next returned, she to his most private places, and he to hers, and they made love again, as might a jewel and a tornado, his walls were lower, and his protections not as strong. Thus it was that when it was over, and they said their goodbyes, his rage, now tamed, went with her.
And thus it went, time and time again, month upon month, for a year and a day, and each time she came to him, he was gentler, as each time she left, she took a portion of what made him harsh away, until the day after their anniversary, when she found that there were no more creatures struggling through his skin, and the animal who had caught her heart was no longer in him, and the violence of their coupling had given way to peace, and he was no longer what she wanted, and she told him so.
And that is when he made the mistake, for his pride had gone with her and his self-respect, and nearly every other thing, and all he had left was the heart with which he loved her and the imagination that she set alight, and the dreams that were now hers entire, and he begged her to stay, and got down on his knees and groveled.
"I have given you every thing I have," he moaned "all for love of you, and love of you is all that I have left. Do not leave me. I need you." and his mistake was a fatal one.
And she looked upon him in disgust, and despised him. "Be silent." She said. "The glorious man I knew would never debase himself so. You are not the man I loved. You are nothing. Never speak to me again." and so she left, and within him, all that had been love was turned to pain, and he suffered.
And she returned to her own places, and the greater part of he who had loved her, and entered into her own halls, calling out to her many beloved creatures.
And they ate her.
*************
There once was a story, about the Many and the woman who he loved.
The Many was afraid, you see, because he knew himself, and he knew that within him was savagery and cruelty and all manner of ferocious things, and the women who he loved, who had captured his heart and crept into his dreams and set his imagination alight and had gained the affection of every single one of his parts was a delicate creature, and easily crushed, and surely would be easily afraid. He drew within himself, then, and did the thing that was hardest for him. He gathered together all his many parts and forced them within his skin, so that they could not bite her and would not make her afraid, and so he went to woo her, a writhing mass of warring creatures within an unyielding shell
And when he came to her, he beckoned her, and she looked at this sculpted perfection of a man, and the control with which he bore himself, and the animal glinting, deep within his eyes, and when he beckoned her, she followed.
Deep within his lair, deep within her most secret places, they joined, as man and woman, and she knew a man like none she had ever known, and he was party to such pleasure, both in giving and receiving, that he could not help himself, and portions of his being began to escape the cage he had made for them. Their coupling was a beautiful and violent thing, and she learned to love the knowledge that he would never hurt her, no matter how his inner demons rode him, and the delicious fear that there was a chance she might be wrong.
And when they were done, and spent, and sated, she ran her hands and eyes across his skin, and drank him in, and feasted her senses upon him, and as she did, she found a place where his rigid shell had thinned. Even as she watched, his hunger nosed its nose into the light, empowered by its evocation.
"What is this?" she asked him, "For I have never seen a man whose parts sought egress through his skin. It is new. I think I like it."
"Still," he said "do not touch it, for it is feral, and may bite."
"Nothing that cute cannot be tamed." She said, and sought to tame the long nose and fang-ringed mouth that sprouted from his back, and though it was Hunger, and not normally a thing easy to tame, it loved her, as did all of his parts, and so for her it was soon gentle and playful. It helped that she gave it food, and as she did, and tamed it in other ways, it came further and further from him, until the wound closed behind it, and it was free. "May I keep it?" she asked. "It is adorable, and I will treat it well."
It was a portion of him, but that portion was happier than ever it had been, and he could not bear to deprive it of her company. He gave his consent, and so when she left his Place for her own, she took his hunger with her.
It was strange to live without hunger, at first, but he came to like the freedom of it, and the hunger that had left him was indeed treated well, and lived with her whom he loved, and he began to relax, just a little. Surely, if his hunger did not perturb her in its purest form, then he need not fear revealing more of himself. Thus it was that when he next walked the world and beckoned her, and they next returned, she to his most private places, and he to hers, and they made love again, as might a jewel and a tornado, his walls were lower, and his protections not as strong. Thus it was that when it was over, and they said their goodbyes, his rage, now tamed, went with her.
And thus it went, time and time again, month upon month, for a year and a day, and each time she came to him, he was gentler, as each time she left, she took a portion of what made him harsh away, until the day after their anniversary, when she found that there were no more creatures struggling through his skin, and the animal who had caught her heart was no longer in him, and the violence of their coupling had given way to peace, and he was no longer what she wanted, and she told him so.
And that is when he made the mistake, for his pride had gone with her and his self-respect, and nearly every other thing, and all he had left was the heart with which he loved her and the imagination that she set alight, and the dreams that were now hers entire, and he begged her to stay, and got down on his knees and groveled.
"I have given you every thing I have," he moaned "all for love of you, and love of you is all that I have left. Do not leave me. I need you." and his mistake was a fatal one.
And she looked upon him in disgust, and despised him. "Be silent." She said. "The glorious man I knew would never debase himself so. You are not the man I loved. You are nothing. Never speak to me again." and so she left, and within him, all that had been love was turned to pain, and he suffered.
And she returned to her own places, and the greater part of he who had loved her, and entered into her own halls, calling out to her many beloved creatures.
And they ate her.