Moby Dick, The Lost Chapter

The following piece was presented at Jersey City Writers’ literary event – Steamy Summer Nights: An Erotic FanFiction Reading. Please enjoy.

“How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts’ honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg–a cosy, loving pair.” – Melville

 

Odd murmurings stirred me from my slumber, until by the by I realized my bedmate was suffering some sort of nightmare. His ribcage heaved violently, and my head, having been rested on his chest, was thrust aloft.

“Queequeg!” cried I, and stirred the savage from his slumber. Queequeg, looking quite perplexed, asked me if I was not well. “You were having a nightmare. I thought I should wake you.”

Thereupon, I took him into an embrace. Queequeg’s draped a bare, brown leg across my lap and his arms slid to clasp about my waist. He and I might yet have managed to keep warm on that cold michaelmas eve.

I confess I did enjoy the comfort of his body. Such a strong harpooneer as he had warm blood coursing through him, and heat radiated from his capacious body mass. A thrill fluttered my heart as Queequeg brushed his lips behind my ear. Remembering he was a cannibal, I could not help but feel somewhat frightened as he opened his mouth against my flesh. He only licked at first, trailing his hand down the ridges of my abdomen. Then he sucked, drawing my skin taut between his teeth.

I had not been so naïve as to think being Queequeg’s intimate friend would not lead here, reader, but had you asked me a few days prior if I would have imagined myself engaging in coitus with a head-peddling savage, I would have unabashedly answered, “Nay. That is unlikely.”

My very skin felt constrictive as my phallus pressed up against the waistband of my trousers. My bedmate’s hands found the base of my shaft and stroked and squeezed and roused the blood in my veins. I felt the intricate lines of the tattoos covering his body, up his forearms, across his built shoulders, his throat, his face. Suddenly our eyes fixed on each other’s and both of us knew what we wanted. Queequeg climbed over me. A devilish countenance paraded across his face as he slipped his hand down the front of my trousers, gripping and tugging at my pillar. I shuddered, holding his hips.

“Good?” he asked.

“Yes,” said I, between gasps.

His other hand pressed mine into the bed, fingers lacing. He rolled down my trousers and brought my prodigious length into his mouth, swallowing the shaft again and again as he cupped my buttocks. His mouth, so warm and wet, provided me an ecstasy like I had never known. When my length grew swollen and red, he stopped and returned to stroking. He maintained a coy smile, not so much amused inasmuch emboldened by my innocence.

“Never ye lay with a man before?”

“No. Never, Queequeg.” My loins ached for him. “You would be my first.”

“You honor me,” he said. “Roll over.” I lay prone, my cock still clutched in Queequeg’s palm as he gently squeezed and twisted. I heard him spit in his other hand, lubricating his manhood. I heard him moan as he eased his length inside me. Gasping, I endured unimaginable ecstasy that throbbed throughout my extremities. I began to sweat, my body dripping and drenching the linens, imbuing the air with the balmy odors of my desire. Sweat pooled in the small of my back where Queequeg’s palm rested, holding me steady on each of his thrusts. “You feel soft,” he whispered, running his hand up my spine. “Skin like woman.”

I folded my hands over the headboard, moaning and grunting as I slammed my body back against him. He plowed into me, his feral breath scattering across my back. Unfathomable pleasure coursed through me as Queequeg went on manually pleasing me. The mounting pressure in my loins at last released against the linens, drenching our four knees. Queequeg bit my nape, inhaling sharply as he went on taking me from behind. He pulled me close, thrusting with all his strength.

The arms of a harpooneer must possess great strength to throw with precision. Queequeg’s physical power was admirable, his force utterly compelling. He held me close by the waist as his sperm filled me. Thus we collapsed into a heap of sweat and cold ejaculate, clasped in each other’s arms, breathing raggedly for several minutes hence. We became silent, having spent our passions, but my new friend’s affection did not wane. He touched his forehead to mine and whispered my name.

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