"Vale of Tears" - A Medieval Erotic Tale - Chapter Four: Come Hither
This is Chapter Four - for previous chapters, see posts below.
Vale of Tears
Chapter Four - Come Hither
They feared for me, my brothers. Ev’ry place I went, monks’ eyes were ‘pon me. Ev’ry place I went, silent tears spilled onto my cheeks. When we sang in the choir, my voice cracked as I choked on the beauty of ideas I had polluted. In the refectory, I could not eat - I could hardly drink.
Abbot Francis sate beside me once - I was dimly aware of a bald pate, rosy cheeks - and wiped away my tears with his ‘kerchief as his eyes searched my face for signs of affliction or glorification. He took my hands and turned them over, inspecting the palms for stigmata. Brother Jocelyn could find naught by way of sickness and in Chapter, when Abbot Francis kept me behind after our daily meeting, hoping that in private I might confess whate’er troubled me, I remained a statue. Mine accidie could not be cured by confession. I was a lost cause. As soon as I could escape these suffocating, loving brothers, I would away to the forest, and let cold and hunger pass their sentence.
‘Pon the third day, I was summoned to Abbot Francis’ private lodgings - a building away from the rest of the abbey and fast by the Eglwyseg River. He there informed me he would take his leave of us awhile. Mine armour of melancholia was pierced.
“Whither shalt thou go?”
“Yorkshire. Fountains Abbey. There is to be a meeting of abbots from all monasteries of our order. Fear not,” spake he afore I could protest. “’T’will not be an uprising like the Pilgrimage of Grace and I shall be in no danger but these be difficult times, thou dost understand, though we have ne’er felt the changes yet.”
I did not respond.
“Prior Stephen shall take charge whilst I am gone.”
It seemed a cold serpent wriggled up my back at those words but I felt I deserved it. “Wherefore dost thou tell me this, Father?”
He paused and stroked the book he was carrying. He looked not as if he were about to speak some great truth but that he was concocting a lie. “I should like to appoint someone to take care of my personal affairs whilst I am gone. Prior Stephen is more than capable yet I would have someone with a more gentle hand take care of my doves. And if Prior Stephen finds th’accounts troublesome, thy literacy may help him succeed where he can ne’er succeed alone.”
I nodded somewhat reluctantly. I was being tricked into committing to life.
“Whilst I am gone, thou mayest use these rooms for private contemplation. ‘Tis warm herein - the windows catch the even sun and thou mayest light the fire at will.” He crossed to me - I stood yet by the door as if making ready to leave at the first opportunity. He placed a hand on my shoulder and spake lower this time. “Yet I wish thou wouldst tell me what troubles thee! Do not fear to unburden thyself - I may give absolution at will and I cannot believe that, if thou hast sinned, it can be a sin so very terrible. That ‘tis one I have ne’er encountered afore.”
He tried to meet mine eyes but how could he when now they were blinded by tears that poured forth in a torrent? Instead, he placed a hand on my tonsured head, prayed, “Bless thee, Brother Gregory” and left me in peace.
In peace! I crumpled ‘gainst the wall and gave myself up to my misery.
_______________________________________________________________________
The fire was low in the hearth. By the light, I could tell the sun also was getting low and soon the sacrist would be ringing the bell for Compline. I must have sate there more than an hour staring at the white walls of Abbot Francis’ simple, graceful room. ‘Twas a peaceful place but the abbot was wrong - I would find no peace there. My fevered presence was the enemy of peace. I rose, pressing down with my heels and pushing myself up the wall. I closed mine eyes ‘gainst the abbot’s sweet gesture and rolled to the side, grasping the door and pulling it ajar.
A hand grasped mine arm. Mine eyes flew open and looked directly into those of another monk - one who at once pushed me back into the room and closed the door.
I quailed in the face of my tormentor, powerless to push away the strong arms that manoeuvred me into a corner of the room where no window could shed light ‘pon us. How e’er could I touch him in anger? A beatific face loomed afore me, eyes eager and smile lighting it from within. Brother Rufus had had a revelation. He was shaking his head as he did afore only this time, ‘twas to refute all my protestations afore I spake them. Still, I harked my voice begin, “No, Brother Rufus -”
He kissed me. O’er and o’er. He held my head on either side and snatched kiss after kiss from my sighing mouth. I could feel my tears fall again yet still his lips smiled - forsooth, I could feel it through the kisses themselves!
Abruptly, his kisses ceased yet he pressed his body e’en tighter to mine. I tipped back my head and moaned like a maid ravish’d. Biting his bottom lip in his excitement, he fumbled ‘neath my habit and tunic till his hand found the instrument it sought. He grasped it at the base and squeezed it like a happy child snatching up a lost toy. I winced then as he began to move his hand, so rough in his enthusiasm, so keen to see my crisis come soon, all I could do was splay my hands ‘gainst the walls and cry out, “O! O!” again and again. It did not feel quite the same as it did when I touched myself - ‘twas cruder, more terrible, more exquisite. I found myself grasping at his white habit, feeling for a moment something hard e’en through those layers of coarse cloth, then his free hand was guiding mine to his place of pleasure and I felt it. My fingers pressed around his pizzle and at once, he began bucking in my hand. I felt hardness, warmth, hair, softly sliding skin, a touch of wetness as the head brushed my palm.
Brother Rufus’ face smiled yet but now divers emotions bled through. There was a touch of pain at the corners of his mouth, his forehead creased and his eyes were narrowed, eyelashes now and then fluttering ‘gainst his cheeks. We grappled with each other’s members like men who had lost their minds, standing so close we breathed each other’s breath, yet those were the only ways in which we touched. I could not bear it. I leapt forward and began to kiss his blessèd face, his nose, his chin, his cheekbones. I was pressing my lips hard ‘gainst his temple, as if seeking to penetrate his very mind, reaching out with my tongue to feel those long lashes quiver. His left hand rose and clasped the back of my head, compelling me to press my forehead ‘gainst his own. Like this, we stood glaring into each other’s eyes quite as if we were enemies. Brother Rufus pulled at my clothes again till my rod was exposed to the air. And our sight. Quickly, he revealed his own and then four hands were running up and down those pizzles, sliding them ‘gainst each other. I felt his nether hair prickle me, glimpsed his cod swinging beneath as he pumped his hips relentlessly. “Gregory, O Gregory,” he said, pulling back so just the heads of our rods met in a kind of kiss. He looked up at me with an expression half-stunned, unbelieving such delight could exist.
My mouth sought his, kissing deeply this time, feeling tooth and tongue as well as lip. Our manipulations grew frantic and soon Brother Rufus was whimpering into my mouth. The pleasure was ‘pon him and I took my time enjoying ev’ry aspect of it - his little cries, the shuddering slackness of his mouth, the jerking in my hand and splash of wetness ‘cross my wrist. Bathing in his afterglow, ‘twas only when I looked down and saw my hand smoothing the white cream into his twitching, failing rod that I realised my pleasure had also peaked.
Was it good or evil, what we had just done? The thought had not crossed my mind since a hurricane captured me but then, as we stood catching our breaths with our eyes downcast, doubt came creeping. I made haste to wipe my hands on my tunic undershirt where no-one would see and ran through excuses in my mind wherefore I should wash mine own clothes rather than hand them o’er to Matilde.
Then I did hark something so unexpected. A laugh, a precious laugh. Brother Rufus was looking at me with eyes like stars and chuckling. The miasma was dispelled - ev’ry muscle relaxed. There was a clasping and a last kissing and he was gone into the twilight. My lover was gone.
Vale of Tears
Chapter Four - Come Hither
They feared for me, my brothers. Ev’ry place I went, monks’ eyes were ‘pon me. Ev’ry place I went, silent tears spilled onto my cheeks. When we sang in the choir, my voice cracked as I choked on the beauty of ideas I had polluted. In the refectory, I could not eat - I could hardly drink.
Abbot Francis sate beside me once - I was dimly aware of a bald pate, rosy cheeks - and wiped away my tears with his ‘kerchief as his eyes searched my face for signs of affliction or glorification. He took my hands and turned them over, inspecting the palms for stigmata. Brother Jocelyn could find naught by way of sickness and in Chapter, when Abbot Francis kept me behind after our daily meeting, hoping that in private I might confess whate’er troubled me, I remained a statue. Mine accidie could not be cured by confession. I was a lost cause. As soon as I could escape these suffocating, loving brothers, I would away to the forest, and let cold and hunger pass their sentence.
‘Pon the third day, I was summoned to Abbot Francis’ private lodgings - a building away from the rest of the abbey and fast by the Eglwyseg River. He there informed me he would take his leave of us awhile. Mine armour of melancholia was pierced.
“Whither shalt thou go?”
“Yorkshire. Fountains Abbey. There is to be a meeting of abbots from all monasteries of our order. Fear not,” spake he afore I could protest. “’T’will not be an uprising like the Pilgrimage of Grace and I shall be in no danger but these be difficult times, thou dost understand, though we have ne’er felt the changes yet.”
I did not respond.
“Prior Stephen shall take charge whilst I am gone.”
It seemed a cold serpent wriggled up my back at those words but I felt I deserved it. “Wherefore dost thou tell me this, Father?”
He paused and stroked the book he was carrying. He looked not as if he were about to speak some great truth but that he was concocting a lie. “I should like to appoint someone to take care of my personal affairs whilst I am gone. Prior Stephen is more than capable yet I would have someone with a more gentle hand take care of my doves. And if Prior Stephen finds th’accounts troublesome, thy literacy may help him succeed where he can ne’er succeed alone.”
I nodded somewhat reluctantly. I was being tricked into committing to life.
“Whilst I am gone, thou mayest use these rooms for private contemplation. ‘Tis warm herein - the windows catch the even sun and thou mayest light the fire at will.” He crossed to me - I stood yet by the door as if making ready to leave at the first opportunity. He placed a hand on my shoulder and spake lower this time. “Yet I wish thou wouldst tell me what troubles thee! Do not fear to unburden thyself - I may give absolution at will and I cannot believe that, if thou hast sinned, it can be a sin so very terrible. That ‘tis one I have ne’er encountered afore.”
He tried to meet mine eyes but how could he when now they were blinded by tears that poured forth in a torrent? Instead, he placed a hand on my tonsured head, prayed, “Bless thee, Brother Gregory” and left me in peace.
In peace! I crumpled ‘gainst the wall and gave myself up to my misery.
_______________________________________________________________________
The fire was low in the hearth. By the light, I could tell the sun also was getting low and soon the sacrist would be ringing the bell for Compline. I must have sate there more than an hour staring at the white walls of Abbot Francis’ simple, graceful room. ‘Twas a peaceful place but the abbot was wrong - I would find no peace there. My fevered presence was the enemy of peace. I rose, pressing down with my heels and pushing myself up the wall. I closed mine eyes ‘gainst the abbot’s sweet gesture and rolled to the side, grasping the door and pulling it ajar.
A hand grasped mine arm. Mine eyes flew open and looked directly into those of another monk - one who at once pushed me back into the room and closed the door.
I quailed in the face of my tormentor, powerless to push away the strong arms that manoeuvred me into a corner of the room where no window could shed light ‘pon us. How e’er could I touch him in anger? A beatific face loomed afore me, eyes eager and smile lighting it from within. Brother Rufus had had a revelation. He was shaking his head as he did afore only this time, ‘twas to refute all my protestations afore I spake them. Still, I harked my voice begin, “No, Brother Rufus -”
He kissed me. O’er and o’er. He held my head on either side and snatched kiss after kiss from my sighing mouth. I could feel my tears fall again yet still his lips smiled - forsooth, I could feel it through the kisses themselves!
Abruptly, his kisses ceased yet he pressed his body e’en tighter to mine. I tipped back my head and moaned like a maid ravish’d. Biting his bottom lip in his excitement, he fumbled ‘neath my habit and tunic till his hand found the instrument it sought. He grasped it at the base and squeezed it like a happy child snatching up a lost toy. I winced then as he began to move his hand, so rough in his enthusiasm, so keen to see my crisis come soon, all I could do was splay my hands ‘gainst the walls and cry out, “O! O!” again and again. It did not feel quite the same as it did when I touched myself - ‘twas cruder, more terrible, more exquisite. I found myself grasping at his white habit, feeling for a moment something hard e’en through those layers of coarse cloth, then his free hand was guiding mine to his place of pleasure and I felt it. My fingers pressed around his pizzle and at once, he began bucking in my hand. I felt hardness, warmth, hair, softly sliding skin, a touch of wetness as the head brushed my palm.
Brother Rufus’ face smiled yet but now divers emotions bled through. There was a touch of pain at the corners of his mouth, his forehead creased and his eyes were narrowed, eyelashes now and then fluttering ‘gainst his cheeks. We grappled with each other’s members like men who had lost their minds, standing so close we breathed each other’s breath, yet those were the only ways in which we touched. I could not bear it. I leapt forward and began to kiss his blessèd face, his nose, his chin, his cheekbones. I was pressing my lips hard ‘gainst his temple, as if seeking to penetrate his very mind, reaching out with my tongue to feel those long lashes quiver. His left hand rose and clasped the back of my head, compelling me to press my forehead ‘gainst his own. Like this, we stood glaring into each other’s eyes quite as if we were enemies. Brother Rufus pulled at my clothes again till my rod was exposed to the air. And our sight. Quickly, he revealed his own and then four hands were running up and down those pizzles, sliding them ‘gainst each other. I felt his nether hair prickle me, glimpsed his cod swinging beneath as he pumped his hips relentlessly. “Gregory, O Gregory,” he said, pulling back so just the heads of our rods met in a kind of kiss. He looked up at me with an expression half-stunned, unbelieving such delight could exist.
My mouth sought his, kissing deeply this time, feeling tooth and tongue as well as lip. Our manipulations grew frantic and soon Brother Rufus was whimpering into my mouth. The pleasure was ‘pon him and I took my time enjoying ev’ry aspect of it - his little cries, the shuddering slackness of his mouth, the jerking in my hand and splash of wetness ‘cross my wrist. Bathing in his afterglow, ‘twas only when I looked down and saw my hand smoothing the white cream into his twitching, failing rod that I realised my pleasure had also peaked.
Was it good or evil, what we had just done? The thought had not crossed my mind since a hurricane captured me but then, as we stood catching our breaths with our eyes downcast, doubt came creeping. I made haste to wipe my hands on my tunic undershirt where no-one would see and ran through excuses in my mind wherefore I should wash mine own clothes rather than hand them o’er to Matilde.
Then I did hark something so unexpected. A laugh, a precious laugh. Brother Rufus was looking at me with eyes like stars and chuckling. The miasma was dispelled - ev’ry muscle relaxed. There was a clasping and a last kissing and he was gone into the twilight. My lover was gone.