Copyright© Lazlo Zalezac, 2004
Sired by man and born by woman, a baby enters the world armed only with the genetic gifts bestowed upon it by its parents. Naked, defenseless, and unable to communicate, infants are vulnerable to the outrages heaped upon them by society, environment, and chance. Society molds them, the environment hardens them, and chance tests them.
Then comes the day when the infant becomes an adult. The character of the adult reflects the forces that battered the child even if some of those forces were blunted by genetic gifts. Good or bad, divine or evil, smart or stupid - extremes in outcomes that appear to be the result of dumb luck.
As the force of gravity pulls all things downwards, so it seems that the chance events with lasting outcomes on the child pull the adult to the worse. The harm caused by exposure to jealously, avarice, ambition, and greed drag down the victors and the victims with equal force. The results are hard adults who are unable to express their feelings or to experience happiness without a sense of dread that it shall be short lived. Lives are spent trying to save something for a rainy day without appreciating the nice days.
Life is not fair. A child is born of rich parents, given the best education that money can buy, and inherits wealth that eliminates the need to ever work. Down the street, a child is born of a crack addict, attends a public school where survival is more important than education, and spends half of their life in prison. Why should one child be blessed when hundreds of others suffer cruel fates? The answer is simple - life is not fair. It is not a reassuring answer, but it is an answer none the less.
In light of all the unhappiness that can affect a person, is it a wonder that in some private moments there are some that wonder if life is worth it. Hamlet faced the unfairness of the dictates of fortune by wondering if it was better to end it all at his own hand or to fight on. In the end, he fought on to find death at the hand of another by winning a Pyrrhic victory in which all died. Few take the battle with fate to that extreme, but some choose to exit life early while others fight to the bitter end. It is a personal choice.
Harry pedaled the three-wheeler up the mountain rode, struggling to overcome gravity that wanted to send him back to the bottom of the mountain. It was just a little farther to the restaurant where he would meet the Sheriff for lunch and a ride to the top of the next mountain over. It was an annual event that was coming a little late this year due to the delay of a couple days spent in jail for vagrancy. Harry, last of the hobos, was making his early summer pilgrimage to Denver where he would live on the streets for months before returning to warmer climes in the fall.
The mountain air was cool as the warm sun beat down upon the odd looking man on the tricycle. Birds flew across the road ignoring him. His beard and gray hair made him look older than his fifty years. With a well-developed potbelly, missing front tooth, and scar across his forehead, he didn't look like a friendly person. When well-dressed self-important people actually took notice of him, they saw an intimidating individual who looked dangerous because of his homeless appearance. However, his wrinkled hard- worn and rough looks were deceptive. Among those who knew him, Harry had earned the nickname, Happy Harry. His smiling face and easy laughter was well known in the streets where he lived by other homeless and police.
Unlike many street people, Harry was not down on his luck. Others might have been forced into such a life, but he had born into it and chose to remain in it. This was the life that he had lived for as long as he could remember. His father and his mother were hobos during the great depression and never settled down even after the depression had ended. He grew up riding on trains, eating hobo stew, and living the life of a wanderer free of any economic ties to any single location.
He finally reached the flat stretch of the road where peddling would be easier. It was less than a mile to the restaurant where he would meet the Sheriff, but that was not his immediate destination. Below him, a shallow stream cut through a meadow. The fast moving water sparkled in the sunlight drawing the eye from the green meadow that it divided in two. He would pause here to visit the stream.
He parked the tricycle by the side of the road and put down the kickstand that would keep it from rolling away. Dismounting, he walked to the back of his bike and rummaged through the basket attached to it. As meager as they were, all of his worldly possessions were in that basket. For the moment, he needed a change of clothing so that he could wash and change clothes before meeting up with the Sheriff. It was the price he had to pay for the lunch and the ride he would get through the mountain pass.
With a change of clothes, Harry headed down the hill to the stream below. Feed by snowmelt from higher up the mountain, the water was not deep, but ran fast and was freezing cold. That wasn't a problem for Harry. In his hard life, he had bathed in ice water and baked in the burning sun. He followed the stream into a stand of trees seeking the place where he usually bathed.
Harry wasn't in a hurry. Rushing around wasn't his style, preferring to take the time to smell the roses and there were a lot of roses in the world that he inhabited. He paused to watch a squirrel sitting on its back legs and holding a nut between its two front paws while eating it. Smiling, Harry gave a mock bow to the squirrel and said, "We're alike you and I. We eat all summer to store enough fat to last through the winter."
The squirrel ignored the interloper. Harry laughed and jiggled his potbelly with both hands before heading to the stand of trees. It was a beautiful day and he was enjoying it. He recognized the path into the woods, but the area had different feel to it despite looking the same. The air was still, the scents were overwhelming, the noises were unnaturally loud, and the colors overly bright.
A chill crept down his spine. Uneasy, he slowed and then stopped to look around wondering what was the matter. He started when a naked woman stepped out from behind a tree and waved a hand to him in a beckoning gesture. As far as Harry was concerned, she was a perfect specimen of womanhood. Her body was soft and rounded in all the right places. It wasn't that she was overweight, but that she had padding in all the right places. Her buttocks were nice and full - the kind that softened the act of sex. Her breasts were full and lush without drooping.
Harry nodded his head and smiled at the woman in a non- threatening manner. In a friendly voice, he said, "Pardon me, ma'am. Didn't know anyone else was here. I'll find another place for my bath."
"Follow me, Harry," said the woman in a commanding voice that would not be denied. It seemed as if her voice came from all around him, echoing off the trees giving it a rustling tone like wind blowing through leaves. It was earthy and otherworldly at the same time.
Stunned by her voice, it never dawned on him to wonder how she knew his name. Harry followed the naked woman along a path that led to a large meadow that he had never seen before. Almost against his will, his cock became erect just from looking at her earthy Rubenesque body. He hadn't met a woman that had that effect on him in years. When she stopped and turned to face him, he froze four feet from her.
For a moment, the world stopped moving. Then, the calm broke into chaos when the woman moved. Small patches of his clothes flew in the air as she ripped them off him layer by layer. His sweater, shirt, and undershirt were rendered into confetti that floated away like dandelion seeds in a slow breeze. His pants and underpants soon joined the fluttering cloth in the air around him. Shocked at the speed with which the woman moved Harry knew it was impossible to protect his clothes.
Standing naked, Harry went to cover his erect cock with his hands. She placed her hands on his chest and pushed him to the ground. Rather than being hard, the ground seemed to swell up to embrace his body and cushion his fall. The woman lowered herself onto his cock and then threw her arms around him. The thought that having her on top would be enjoyable flitted through his mind like the birds flitted from branch to branch around them.
She rolled pulling Harry atop her. Before he knew it, he was thrusting into her. His body moved without conscious control. It was driven by urges that came from without rather than from within. His buttocks moved at a jackhammer pace as he pounded his cock into her. All of his attempts to slow down and take it easy on the woman beneath him failed. His body was no longer his to control and moved of its own volition.
The first few minutes were pleasurable, but the pleasure evaporated the longer his body hammered into her. Muscles in his back started to hurt, his buttocks started to spasm, and sweat rolled off his face blinding him as beads of salty water ran into his eyes. When she tightened her cunt muscles, he thought his cock was going to break in half as he forced it through the tight channel. It wasn't making love or even having sex, but something even more primal than rutting.
.... There is more of this story ...