Newcomer to the Garden of Cock – Final Part

Erotic fiction and metaphors on some of the practices and beliefs of our Brotherhood

With newfound determination, our Hero leaves the comforting sights of the shores He knows, to dive deep into the murky waters of his sunken desires. Will this “Beast,” His most animal, sexual Self, devour Him, consume Him, or will He manage to make Him dance at His whim, like He who tames a wild colt or trains a fierce golden eagle? For the first part, please click here. For the second, please click here. For the third, please click here. For the fourth, please click here.

Into the darkness I ventured. I stepped into the depths of the swirling Forest of my Lust. Where it was the thickest, the most humid, that is where I found myself walking towards. Dense, warm, the trees themselves seemed to drink from the lewdness seeping through the very soil. My body glistened with sweat, and plants extended vines as if to sip and lap the copious perspiration off my skin. They caressed my body, gently, softly. Their touch was but a whisper, discrete, sensual; it may me feel desired. I took enormous satisfaction in this demonstration of erotic affection.

“Love me.” “Want me,” my soul bid as I displayed my Manhood with pride and cockiness.

“Worship me,” I commanded.

The sylvan, mossy, carpeted ground hollowed in a hundred places wherever my stiff erection pointed at. Twitching, inviting, soliciting my life-giving Seed all too ready to bust. I ached to pour myself when looking at the moist, yet parched Earth. As I moved on, huge mushrooms sprouted, assuming grotesque, obscene shapes. Drooling sugary and savory, viscous nectar, they curved and bent like sunflowers following the crowned, golden face.

My face.

I am so handsome. I am so beautiful.

I would penetrate myself if I could…

The air filled progressively with a cloud of minute spores, making me feel an itch I knew quite well, and itch that demanded to be appeased. Intendedly, I touched one of the monstrous fungi with my hip. A surge of heat set my heart racing and made my knees go weak in an instant.

It was over.

It was clear to me.

The trees were other Selves.

They were My Echoes, those who have and are succumbing to indescribable, perverted longings as we speak. I saw it all too clearly. Pools of concentrated Lust mirrored a thousand reflections. Men of all ages, hailing from every direction, walking every path of life; all caught in the same maelstrom. They have never been in control; it is their primal Lust who pulls their strings. All there is left for them is to obey the primordial drive. Each and every one was a reflection. They were all Me.

The grassy mounds groaned as they throbbed in the usual pelvic motions. Trees entwined, jerking licentiously as they rubbed their bark; twisting root and branch, sodomizing each other in every possible way. Each and every one caught in a mindless, restless, endless, relentless spiral of Lust.

I cared not.

All that mattered to me was the quenching of the fiery itch raging through me. My body begged to be fed the oozing juice of my own lewdness, even though I knew drinking from the cup of the bulging toadstools would make me ever thirstier.

I cared not.

Even if it meant an eternity in this hopeless forest, I had to fill and be filled.

Just as I squatted to gorge my lower self on the never-ending feast of fungal flesh, I caught on a wisp of His scent. The last leaf before the arrival of a stark, somnolent drought of awareness fell off and drifted in the wind onto my hands. Such a tiny plume, a mere whiff, an intriguing aroma not unlike my own. A scent I perceived the very moment my journey began. Hours ago. Days ago. Years ago.

A thousand lives ago.

Roasted chestnut. Allspice. Aged cheese. Moist soil. Rock salt. Ale.

I must know the origin of the scent.

Searching for the source, I left the miry, thorny thicket, like He who, when lost in the forest, finds an old, forgotten, overgrown trail He used to hike in young age. I knew I had walked this path before. The familiar smell became stronger. I picked on the pace. Feeling that excitement you experience when you know you are on the right way, I ran past through the woods.

I ran to the encounter with He I had been looking for for so long.

The forest cleared somewhat. There, the musk was the strongest.

I could feel His presence.

He was near, yet nowhere to be seen.

I smiled.

Somehow, I knew, deep within, all was as it is supposed to be. It was good. It was perfect. How different this modest glade felt in contrast to the kaleidoscopic swamp I had just gone through. The Lust had not gone anywhere, though, and that made me grin mischievously; I knew it was a part of me, an aspect of myself. I looked at my body and rejoiced in narcissistic, guilt-free contemplation of its beauty; I knew I needed no one’s permission to enjoy myself. Emerging from my thick, bushy crotch, a mighty Tower rose up; a triumphant sword against the sky. It glimmered with the same syrup I had seen leaking from those gigantic mushroom heads.

I closed my eyes and beamed as I saw myself not running from the vegetable phalli, but shamelessly riding them once and again with vim, gusto and abandon. How much honey overfloweth from my insatiable hole! I threw my arms in the air. I had found it.

I had found the source of the scent, right in my own pits.

I am that I am.

As I masturbated my Penis in my holy name, feasting on my Musk, on my own Lust, I felt His breath behind my neck. I knew his scent because it was my own. Firm and heavy hands embraced my chest and abdomen comforting, fondling, teasing, reassuring. His curls and shaggy beard tickled and scratched as He too whispered in my ear:

“I am that I am.”

His voice was rich, melodic, virile, and, o, so deep. I had heard it many times, I realized, in the rustling of leaves in autumn, in the booming thunder right before a storm, in the content moaning of a dozen Men greatly aroused.

He groped my shoulders, my thighs, my glutes, making me shudder with pleasure. He brought His left hand in front of me and began stroking my Cock with expertise that surpassed my own a hundredfold. He pressed His broad, generous, hairy pectorals against my upper back. His right hand slid down my crack, and his stout, middle finger picked the lock to my lower gate like a seasoned thief, finding little, if any, resistance. When he licked my nape, I began to growl and howl; my sternum broke open as the piercing voice of His Light, My Light, spoke through my chest:

I AM THAT I AM

My heart beat with the pulse of entire universes. He stood before Me. A being of fire, and horn, and light.

“What is there to fear?”

He pointed at the parading galaxies before my eyes, at the birth and destruction of stars, at the rise and decline of entire civilizations.

TAT TVAM ASI

“What is there to fear?”

Back in the glade, the Horned One said:

The Horned God, artwork by the author.

“You are the Master,”

…as He fell to His knees to worship Me.

I grabbed Him by the Horns and made Him behold my brow as I shoved my Manhood into Him.

Back in the glade, the Horned One said:

“You are the Slave,”

…as he spread my legs opened and rammed the Beast into Me.

He made Me shed tears of pain, pleasure, happiness and utter surrender.

Back in the glade, I said:

Beloved Dominic Vine, thank You for your Light!

“and I am the One that transcends and integrates it all,”

…as I masturbated my Penis amidst the twilight of the serene glade.

I could feel His Presence.

He wasn’t out there, though.

He wasn’t exactly within, either.

This was the supreme heresy, the boldest profanity, the greatest indecency:

I am both the Son of the Divine Masculine and the Divine Masculine Himself.

I had left on a journey to seek The Beast and I found Him.

I am many things.

I am every thing.

I am that I am.

What is there to fear?

I am the Beast.

*

I lied naked on the dewy grass, savoring the beauty and bounty of the Earth unfolding before my eyes. A warm tenderness, a clarity of mind and heart made me smile with an innocence I thought I would never experience after I had awoken to the harshness and cruelty of the blind and the confounded as a child. This purity was not born out of ignorance, but knowledge, experience and acceptance of my humanity and its duality. As long as I remained here, as long as I played this game, I would experience them: happiness and sadness; pleasure and pain; longing and satisfaction; hunger and satiety; male reasoning and female intuition; the vitality of the young and the slow pace of the old.

I have drunk from them all.

I have been both the hunter and the prey. The parent and the child. The teacher and the student. The lord and the servant. The ally and the enemy.

I have taken life. I have spared life. I have broken hearts. I have mended hearts. I have sinned. I have sought atonement. I have built great monuments and laid them to ruins. I have spoken terrible curses…

And I have forgiven he who is the most difficult to forgive:

Myself.

I lie naked on the sweet grass, watching sunlight filtering through the canopy of the trees. No matter how dark, light always finds a way through. Dancing insects busily take care of their young, their business, their little battles, their little games of power. We are all characters in the Divine Play, and the Playwright himself. Everything is as it is. Everything is as it should be. The fire still burns within me; it will ever do so. Though a gentle candle at the moment, it can, at my will, expand and grow as fiery as the blazing sun. All is as intended, as I intended, for that fire is what makes possible the manifestation of every desire.

So much suffering.

So much beauty.

So much lust.

So much love.

I laughed.

I wept.

“Now you can truly choose,” I told myself.

*

Dedicated with love and gratitude to all the Men of the Brotherhood.