(no subject)
~*SHE COMES TO YOU LIGHT AS THE BREEZE: A STORY OF THE BUZZCOCKS*~:
ONCE THERE LIVED A FINE MAN KNOWN AS PETER SHELLEY. HE WAS TALL, ELEGANT, AND HOMOSEXUAL. HIS FINE BLONDE HAIR FLOWED IN THE SUMMER’S BREEZE. HIS SKIN WAS AS FAIR AS IVORY AND TWICE AS MIGHTY. BUT THERE WAS A VOID WITHIN HIS GREAT AND NOBLE HEART: HE WAS A MAN WITHOUT A WIFE. LIKE THE ACORN TREE WITHOUT A SPARROW OR THE BARN WITHOUT A CROW, SHELLEY WAS LISTLESS AND ALONE. HIS HEART WEPT, THOUGH HIS FAÇADE WAS STRONG AND TRUE.
PETER OFTEN WENT TO THE MARKETS TO BUY A SELECTION OF LOCAL PLUMS, HARPSICHORDS AND BEAR SKIN RUGS. HE SKIPPED AND WHISTLED AS HE WALKED, FOR HIS BODY WAS LEAN AND HEALTHY LIKE THAT OF A YOUNG AND NUBILE BOY. HIS SKIN RAGED WITH PHEROMONES, TURNING HEADS NEAR AND FAR. PETER COULD HAVE TAKEN HIS PICK OF ANY MAN, AS IF THE WORLD OF MANHOOD WERE HIS PRIVATE ORCHARD. THEY LOOKED UPON HIS AS A TITAN, AN ADONIS. LIKE PROMETHEUS, HE STOLE THE FIRE OF ZEUS, YET LONELINESS ATE HIS LIVER NIGHT AFTER NIGHT. AND WHAT A FINE LIVER IT WAS. IT BLED WITH THE PASSIONS OF THE THOUSAND SUNS, THE GREATEST OF WHICH WAS NOT HALF YET HIS BEAUTY. BUT, OH, THAT VULTURE WAS A BEAT OF CRUELTY.
SO AS PETER SKIPPED IN A HAZE OF SWEETNESS, YOUTH AND BEAUTY, HIS HEART WAS LONELY AND ALONE. EVERY TREE HELD THE SERPENT OF SATAN, TESTING HIS HEART AND HIS PURITY. THEN FROM HELL ITSELF CAME DEVOTO. HE WAS A DARK AND BROODING MAN, WITH ALL OF LUCIFER’S COLD PASSION. “OH, DARK LORD, LET ME FEAST UPON THIS FINE YOUNG MAN” CRIED DEVOTO, RAGING WITH THE DYING OF THE NIGHT. RAGE! RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE NIGHT! THE BLACKNESS OF HIS SKIN ECHOED THE DEPRAVITY OF HIS LOST SOUL. DEVOTO WAS A SELKIE, A WOMAN CAPTURED BY THE SEA. EVERY NIGHT HE WOULD LEAVE HIS SKIN UPON THE WATER AND HOPE THAT A YOUNG SAILOR WOULD FALL INTO HIS SILKEN TRAP. HE HISSED AS PETER PASSED HIM, WHISPERING SWEET PROMISES INTO HIS FINE AND BEAUTIFUL EAR. PETER HEARD HIM IN THE SECRET COCKLES OF HIS HEART, AND HIS SOUL BEGAN TO KNOW DEVOTO.
THAT NIGHT, PETER SHELLEY HIRED A FINE AND STURDY YACHT, WHICH HE CHRISTENED THE EURYNOME - QUEEN OF THE DESERT. HIS SOUL STRINGS PULLED AT HIS FINGERS, TEACHING THEM THE WAYS OF THE OCEAN. HE MOVED AND MOVED ON THE GENTLE SEA CURRENTS UNTIL HE FOUND THE BARREN SHORES OF MALTA. THERE HE LAY HIS HEAD AMONGST THE SHELLS OF THE BEACH AND ALL THEIR GENTLE MUSIC. HE SLEPT AS DEVOTO SHED HIS SKIN. THE ELEGANT SEEL RUG THAT SURROUNDED HIM FELL TO THE EARTH WITH ALL THE POWER OF OPHION, OUR WATERY LORD. HIS SKIN WAS FRESH AND NAKED, PRICKLING AGAINST THE GENTLE WINDS OF SPAIN. HIS ROD OF MANHOOD HARDENED AS HE WATCHED THE FINE PETE SHELLEY SLUMBER, LOST IN A MAGICAL WORLD OF HIS OWN NOCTURNAL CREATION. MY, WHAT A FINE WORLD IT WAS.
BUT SOON SHELLEY STIRRED, WAKENED BY THE MUSK OF DEVOTO’S ELEGANT NUDITY. HE ROSE, LITERALLY AND METAPHORICALLY, AS THE SENSUAL HOWARD ENVELOPED HIM IN THE CLOAK OF THE EVENING. PETE MOVED TO HOWARD, SHARING A SINGLE BREATH OF DIVINE UNITY. HE MASSAGED DEVOTO’S GLORIOUS BUTTOCKS. THEY WERE FIRM AND GLORIOUS TO THE TOUCH. HE WAS AS ELEGANT AS A SWAN AND AS BRAVE AS A KELPIE. PETER KNEW THAT HE MUST POSSESS HIM BEFORE MIDNIGHT BROKE THE LOVER’S SPELL. WITHOUT A WORD, DEVOTO REACHED DOWN TO THE GLORIOUS EARTH, PREPARING HIMSELF WITH THE TRIUMPHANT SWORD OF SHELLEY’S PASSION. PETER SAW THE DARK AND ALLURING ENTRANCE BEAM BEFORE HIM. THE SABRE OF HIS MANHOOD REARED HIGH AND PLUNGED INSIDE HIM, FILLING THE NIGHT WITH SPARKS OF DESIRE. HE THRUSTED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT, SENDING THE MILK OF HIS PASSION DEEP WITHIN HIS LOVER.
BOTH MEN LAY DOWN TOGETHER, THRILLED BY THEIR NOCTURNAL ENCOUNTER. BUT DEVOTO COULD NOT STRAY FAR FROM HIS DEMONIC SOUL. HIS EYES GLOWED A DARK BLACK, SENDING THE MOONLIT BEACH INTO A VOID OF SATANIC PRINCEHOOD. SHELLEY GASPED! HIS LOVER WAS A WARLOCK, THE DARKEST OF PRINCES. THE SATAN OF THE NIGHT. HE HAD GIVEN HIS MANHOOD TO A RIDER OF LUCIFER, TO A SPIRIT OF THE BLACK.
“LOOK UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPIAR” QUOTH DEVOTO. AND HIS VOICE ECHOED DOWN THE LONELY HALL.
YON ENDETH.
ONCE THERE LIVED A FINE MAN KNOWN AS PETER SHELLEY. HE WAS TALL, ELEGANT, AND HOMOSEXUAL. HIS FINE BLONDE HAIR FLOWED IN THE SUMMER’S BREEZE. HIS SKIN WAS AS FAIR AS IVORY AND TWICE AS MIGHTY. BUT THERE WAS A VOID WITHIN HIS GREAT AND NOBLE HEART: HE WAS A MAN WITHOUT A WIFE. LIKE THE ACORN TREE WITHOUT A SPARROW OR THE BARN WITHOUT A CROW, SHELLEY WAS LISTLESS AND ALONE. HIS HEART WEPT, THOUGH HIS FAÇADE WAS STRONG AND TRUE.
PETER OFTEN WENT TO THE MARKETS TO BUY A SELECTION OF LOCAL PLUMS, HARPSICHORDS AND BEAR SKIN RUGS. HE SKIPPED AND WHISTLED AS HE WALKED, FOR HIS BODY WAS LEAN AND HEALTHY LIKE THAT OF A YOUNG AND NUBILE BOY. HIS SKIN RAGED WITH PHEROMONES, TURNING HEADS NEAR AND FAR. PETER COULD HAVE TAKEN HIS PICK OF ANY MAN, AS IF THE WORLD OF MANHOOD WERE HIS PRIVATE ORCHARD. THEY LOOKED UPON HIS AS A TITAN, AN ADONIS. LIKE PROMETHEUS, HE STOLE THE FIRE OF ZEUS, YET LONELINESS ATE HIS LIVER NIGHT AFTER NIGHT. AND WHAT A FINE LIVER IT WAS. IT BLED WITH THE PASSIONS OF THE THOUSAND SUNS, THE GREATEST OF WHICH WAS NOT HALF YET HIS BEAUTY. BUT, OH, THAT VULTURE WAS A BEAT OF CRUELTY.
SO AS PETER SKIPPED IN A HAZE OF SWEETNESS, YOUTH AND BEAUTY, HIS HEART WAS LONELY AND ALONE. EVERY TREE HELD THE SERPENT OF SATAN, TESTING HIS HEART AND HIS PURITY. THEN FROM HELL ITSELF CAME DEVOTO. HE WAS A DARK AND BROODING MAN, WITH ALL OF LUCIFER’S COLD PASSION. “OH, DARK LORD, LET ME FEAST UPON THIS FINE YOUNG MAN” CRIED DEVOTO, RAGING WITH THE DYING OF THE NIGHT. RAGE! RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE NIGHT! THE BLACKNESS OF HIS SKIN ECHOED THE DEPRAVITY OF HIS LOST SOUL. DEVOTO WAS A SELKIE, A WOMAN CAPTURED BY THE SEA. EVERY NIGHT HE WOULD LEAVE HIS SKIN UPON THE WATER AND HOPE THAT A YOUNG SAILOR WOULD FALL INTO HIS SILKEN TRAP. HE HISSED AS PETER PASSED HIM, WHISPERING SWEET PROMISES INTO HIS FINE AND BEAUTIFUL EAR. PETER HEARD HIM IN THE SECRET COCKLES OF HIS HEART, AND HIS SOUL BEGAN TO KNOW DEVOTO.
THAT NIGHT, PETER SHELLEY HIRED A FINE AND STURDY YACHT, WHICH HE CHRISTENED THE EURYNOME - QUEEN OF THE DESERT. HIS SOUL STRINGS PULLED AT HIS FINGERS, TEACHING THEM THE WAYS OF THE OCEAN. HE MOVED AND MOVED ON THE GENTLE SEA CURRENTS UNTIL HE FOUND THE BARREN SHORES OF MALTA. THERE HE LAY HIS HEAD AMONGST THE SHELLS OF THE BEACH AND ALL THEIR GENTLE MUSIC. HE SLEPT AS DEVOTO SHED HIS SKIN. THE ELEGANT SEEL RUG THAT SURROUNDED HIM FELL TO THE EARTH WITH ALL THE POWER OF OPHION, OUR WATERY LORD. HIS SKIN WAS FRESH AND NAKED, PRICKLING AGAINST THE GENTLE WINDS OF SPAIN. HIS ROD OF MANHOOD HARDENED AS HE WATCHED THE FINE PETE SHELLEY SLUMBER, LOST IN A MAGICAL WORLD OF HIS OWN NOCTURNAL CREATION. MY, WHAT A FINE WORLD IT WAS.
BUT SOON SHELLEY STIRRED, WAKENED BY THE MUSK OF DEVOTO’S ELEGANT NUDITY. HE ROSE, LITERALLY AND METAPHORICALLY, AS THE SENSUAL HOWARD ENVELOPED HIM IN THE CLOAK OF THE EVENING. PETE MOVED TO HOWARD, SHARING A SINGLE BREATH OF DIVINE UNITY. HE MASSAGED DEVOTO’S GLORIOUS BUTTOCKS. THEY WERE FIRM AND GLORIOUS TO THE TOUCH. HE WAS AS ELEGANT AS A SWAN AND AS BRAVE AS A KELPIE. PETER KNEW THAT HE MUST POSSESS HIM BEFORE MIDNIGHT BROKE THE LOVER’S SPELL. WITHOUT A WORD, DEVOTO REACHED DOWN TO THE GLORIOUS EARTH, PREPARING HIMSELF WITH THE TRIUMPHANT SWORD OF SHELLEY’S PASSION. PETER SAW THE DARK AND ALLURING ENTRANCE BEAM BEFORE HIM. THE SABRE OF HIS MANHOOD REARED HIGH AND PLUNGED INSIDE HIM, FILLING THE NIGHT WITH SPARKS OF DESIRE. HE THRUSTED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT, SENDING THE MILK OF HIS PASSION DEEP WITHIN HIS LOVER.
BOTH MEN LAY DOWN TOGETHER, THRILLED BY THEIR NOCTURNAL ENCOUNTER. BUT DEVOTO COULD NOT STRAY FAR FROM HIS DEMONIC SOUL. HIS EYES GLOWED A DARK BLACK, SENDING THE MOONLIT BEACH INTO A VOID OF SATANIC PRINCEHOOD. SHELLEY GASPED! HIS LOVER WAS A WARLOCK, THE DARKEST OF PRINCES. THE SATAN OF THE NIGHT. HE HAD GIVEN HIS MANHOOD TO A RIDER OF LUCIFER, TO A SPIRIT OF THE BLACK.
“LOOK UPON MY WORKS, YE MIGHTY, AND DESPIAR” QUOTH DEVOTO. AND HIS VOICE ECHOED DOWN THE LONELY HALL.
YON ENDETH.