Member-only story
The Man On The Hill
Erotic short. A young man drowns in shadow.
Trans M/amorphous man made of shadows. 900w, rated E. Vaginal and anal sex, oral, spitroasting, overstimulation, sex outdoors.
It’s raining, and as the water comes down each heavy drop is a weight on his skin, one after the other, a hundred tiny little blows on his shoulders, streaking down his back, into the cleft between his arse cheeks, down his thighs, his calves. The water’s path isn’t neat or predictable, keeps catching on the hair on his shoulders, on his legs — some of it drips down his front and forms a trickle down his chest. Occasionally, a droplet of water dribbles into the hollow of his navel, and now and then this is so cold and so surprising, somehow more intimate than the flow of water over the rest of his naked body, that he shivers.
The grass is wet under his feet and flattens under his soles; the mud sticks between his toes, covers his heels in a cap.
Makes him think of Achilles, makes him wonder if you could tell by sight the place where his indelible armour ended and where it began, if Patroclus whilst washing his lover’s feet of mud and earth would be able to feel the difference, trace the line on his skin. Would Patroclus, touching the man he loved, be able to trace the ghost of Thetis’ hands on his skin — her thumb print, the tips of her…
