Just One Bite Volume 1

by Scarlet Blackwell, J. L. Merrow, Josephine Myles, Erik Orrania, Nix Winter, Stevie Woods

  He wrinkled his nose. “Nope, not really into any of those.”

  “You’re not?” Okay, so maybe I should have guessed about the beautiful maidens by the way he was looking at me. But surely everyone wanted riches and fame?

  “Great beauty, then. Artistic talents. A singing voice that can make grown men weep. A larger manhood. You name what you want – I can give it to you.”

  He shrugged and stood, walking over to his bed with feline grace and perching on the edge. Perhaps he didn’t need his beauty enhancing, after all. In desperation I looked around. The room we were in was small, a cluttered table and chair monopolising most of the remaining floorspace.

  “Somewhere a little more spacious, perhaps. I can give you a palace. Wouldn’t you love a palace of your own?”

  “What, and leave all this? You’d have to be mad to give up a view like that.”

  I turned at his gesture, and the panorama froze me in place, stirring up long-buried memories. The whole wall was made of glass, and beyond . . . beyond was a path, leading between sand dunes and down to a beach with azure waters beyond. A lump rose in my throat. It was like a vision from the land of the Djinn; the land I had long been banished from.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it? That’s where I found the lamp, washed up on the beach.”

  I pushed myself back from the yawning chasm that always opened at thoughts of everything I had lost. I’d spent far too long staring into it at the bottom of the sea bed. “It’s not bad, I suppose. There must be something I can do for you, though.”

  “Scott. The name’s Scott.” He gave me an expectant look. “Well? Don’t tell me I’m going to have to spend one of my wishes just to find out your name.”

  “Xavier,” I said, feeling like I was giving him something precious. Not that Scott noticed.

  “Well, Xavier, I can think of one thing I might enjoy.” Scott’s voice dropped low and sultry, but it wasn’t until his hands reached out to me that I realised what he was doing.

  “No! You’ll burn!” I jumped to the ceiling, cowering up in the corner. “I’m made of spirit fire. You can’t touch me. I’ve lost my protective shell.”

  “How come? I thought you could do magic.”

  I gazed on Scott’s guileless face, so open and trusting. I didn’t want to tell him about my shameful past, but I didn’t want to be responsible for him making another attempt to touch me just because I hadn’t been honest.

  “Some of my powers were taken from me as punishment.”

  “Bummer, man. Punishment for what?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.” I wanted to crawl back inside my lamp. Although it was a prison, right now it felt like a refuge. I was out of my depth with Scott; he wasn’t acting like any of my past masters. “Just wake me when you’re ready to start wishing.”

  I fled to safety.

  ***

  Time passes strangely in the lamp, but even I could tell that Scott hadn’t waited long before calling me forth again. For a start, he was still dressed in those bizarre, brightly patterned britches, and the shadows in his room had barely moved.

  “You have your wish ready?”

  “Uh, yeah. Hi Xavier,” he waved at me. “I decided I want . . . I want you to have your protective magic back.”

  “You do, Master? Why would you spend a wish on me?” Damn and blast! I hadn’t meant to call him Master, and now he was pulling the most peculiar expression.

  “Um, well, you’re pretty ripped, you know. And I thought maybe we could get to know each other a little better, if I could touch you.” He raised his brows, his eyes pleading with me.

  “You want to get to know me?” I cursed myself for sounding like a parrot, but this was unprecedented. I scowled to hide my confusion.

  “Oh come on, I know you’re interested. I can tell. My gaydar’s infallible.”

  “Gaydar?”

  “Yeah, you know. For telling when guys are into other guys.”

  I gave Scott a long stare, which he refused to back down from. It felt like he was ripping the secrets from my soul, and I didn’t like it one little bit. Maybe sharing the pleasures of the flesh would be a welcome distraction after all. I sighed, rolling my eyes to look up at the ceiling. “You need to say ‘I wish’, and state it clearly.”

  My body tingled as Scott made his wish. I was still chained to the lamp, as Faizah had made sure I would be for the rest of my immortal life, but some of my powers returned, enabling physical interaction with my surroundings.

  Physical interaction . . . with the lithe young man who was now standing right up close. He was a few inches shorter than me, and his breath tickled my neck.

  “So, is it safe for me to touch you?” Scott asked.

  I answered him by reaching out and clasping his shoulders with my hands. The sensation of warm flesh under my hands made my eyes prickle with tears. How many years had it been? But I didn’t want to remember Omar and his merry eyes, so I blotted him out by pulling Scott to me and kissing him.

  As his lips yielded to my questing tongue, Scott made a soft noise that quaked through me. He sounded so grateful, when really I was the one who should be demonstrating my gratitude. I sank to my knees in front of him, and applied my hands to his peculiar trouser fastenings.

  “You know, I was planning on going down on you first.”

  I gazed up at his flushed face. “If that is what you wish, Master.”

  “Umm, no, this is good too. But what’s with this Master business? It’s a bit freaky, you know?”

  “I’m not happy with it either, but you summoned me, therefore you are my Master.” I freed the clasp of his trousers, and pulled them down so that his cock sprang forth. It was a truly magnificent specimen: long thick, and veined. It made me feel somewhat inadequate, but one of the great things about being a djinni is you can alter your physical form at will. I made myself longer so that I could compete. “I can see why you didn’t wish for any enhancements here.”

  Scott grinned. “Yeah, I’ve never heard any complaints. Mind you, I do get a bit sick of always being asked to top.”

  “Top?” I asked, before swiping my tongue over the gleaming tip. He tasted so good. Humans always have the most wonderful scents and flavours. I buried my nose into the hair at his groin, smothering myself in his briny musk to make up for all my years alone.

  “Top. Yeah. Uh, the one who does the fucking, you know? God, that’s good, don’t stop.”

  I thought about what Scott had told me as I continued licking and teasing him with my fingers. Did this mean that he would welcome me sinking my shaft into him? The idea made me swell further, and I took his whole cock into my mouth in an attempt to distract myself from the prospect. It wouldn’t do to peak too early.

  As I sucked down Scott’s massive length I almost choked. A quick bit of emergency throat reshaping saved me the embarrassment, and I was pleased to manage to fit the whole thing in after all. What a sensation! He tickled the back of my throat, and I swallowed around him, digging my fingers into that succulent rear of his.

  “Oh-my-God-you’ve-got-a-deep-throat!” Scott’s hands twisted hard in my hair, but even the pain was glorious after so many years without it.

  I continued to suck him down, before pulling back and swirling my tongue around his cockhead. I teased the slit, hungry for his climax. I knew it was approaching when Scott’s hips began to twitch, and I relaxed my throat, pulling hard on his hips and grunting to give him the message. He understood, grabbing my hair and thrusting hard into my mouth. It bruised and chafed, but my cock ached even harder than before and soon I was rewarded by his his hot seed spilling over my tongue. I lapped it down, every last drop of it, my body thrilling with Scott’s shuddering moans.

  Scott collapsed as I released him, and I caught him in my arms, lifting him up and arranging him on the bed. He made an appealing composition, lying on his back with his legs spread wide. I licked my lips, staring down at him. Dare I take my pleasure? It had been so, so l
ong, but I didn’t want to risk hurting him with the strength of my need.

  “Oh God, Xavvi, that was amazing! Just . . . just give me a minute, all right?”

  Xavvi? Omar had called me Xavvi. I slumped onto the bed, sitting with my head in my hands. Memories of our time together flashed before my eyes. Time had done little to dim their brilliance.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Scott sat up behind me, his hands kneading my shoulders.

  I shrugged him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I wish you’d tell me.”

  I spun around. “You want to spend your wishes on this? You want me to dredge up all that pain just so you can get a bit of entertainment?”

  Scott dropped his gaze, and when he looked up again they shone bright. “That’s not what I meant. Christ! It’s just, it’s healthier to get that sort of emotional crap out in the open, you know? Not bottle it all up inside and let it fester.”

  “No, I don’t know, but since you’ve wished for it I must obey. There was a man I loved who called me by that name, and he was taken from me, cruelly.” I studied the floor as I spoke, wishing it could swallow me up. Why was I forever doomed to grant the wishes of others, yet never my own? “His name was Omar and he was human. It is forbidden for djinn to take human lovers, but many of us defied the law. Omar and I were just unlucky enough to be chosen to make an example of. Not only because we were both men, but he was a favourite consort of Queen Faizah and she resented me stealing his affections. She was a cruel and wicked woman.” I flinched, recalling her smile as Omar’s body was pulled apart by horses.

  I felt Scott’s weight shift behind my back, and his legs and arms wrapped around me. It was comforting to feel the warmth of another body, and I let my memories flow, wondering if Scott was right about it being better to let them out.

  “My own punishment was eternal banishment from the land of my people, and imprisonment in the lamp, doomed to forever grant the wishes of others, and never my own. That, and having to watch Omar’s execution.”

  Scott’s breath was warm against my neck, and I sighed deeply. Strangely, it did feel as if something had shifted inside me – as if the constricting bands around my heart had loosened.

  “I’m really sorry, Xavier. That truly sucks. What a bunch of homophobic bigots.”

  I didn’t understand all of his words, but the empathy was clear and I relaxed into his arms, feeling the beat of his heart strong and steady against my back. We sat there for some time, just the two of us, until a change in Scott’s body tension stirred me into awareness.

  “I have my final wish,” he said.

  I frowned. I had known it would come to an end soon, but I had wished for just a little more time in his company.

  “I want to check it with you first, though. How about if I ask for the curse to be broken, and for you to live out a normal life as a human, freed from all this genie bullshit. How’s that? Xavier? Is that all right?”

  I couldn’t speak. He would spent his last wish on me. No one had ever thought to do that before in their lust for wealth and power. He watched me expectantly.

  “Please,” I said, hearing my voice crack. “Please, Master.”

  Scott’s eyes flashed. “No, there’ll be none of this ‘Master’ crap. You’re your own man, and you won’t owe me anything. I don’t want a slave, I want a . . . a lover. One who’s with me because he wants to be, not because he’s under some stupid fucking spell.” He hugged his arms around himself tightly, and then he spoke his wish.

  I felt my spirit body hardening, changing into Earthly matter. It itched, and prickled, and in the final stages it felt as if I was being crushed under a great weight, yet I rejoiced in it. I pulled in my first real breath, reeling with the giddy rush of it.

  It took me some time to return to the room, and find myself cradled in Scott’s arms.

  “You know what I’d ask for, if I had one last wish?” Scott asked, his voice a husky whisper. “I’d wish for you to stick around so we could get to know each other better. I’d want to teach you how to surf on the sea and the net, and stay up late watching movies and playing Resident Evil.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I liked the idea of sticking around.

  “I can grant you that wish.” I cut off any further chatter with a blistering kiss. My mortal body responded to the taste of him with a flood of desire, sweeping through me and setting my very substance alight. And Scott yielded, pulling me down onto the bed and anointing me with strange oils, before welcoming me into his body. I was truly alive. Every rasp of my breath, every slap of our flesh, every drop of sweat was a treasure. As I peaked on an incendiary rush of exquisite joy, Scott cried out, following me into oblivion.

  It took time for our breathing to settle, and I listened to the song of his heart, pounding next to mine.

  “God damn-it, Xavier! That was amazing! We are so doing that again.”

  “I hope you don’t mean right away. I’m not sure this mortal body can handle it. I wish to try again later, perhaps after a sleep.” The pillow looked remarkably appealing.

  Scott grinned. “Yeah, I reckon that’s one wish I can grant for you.”

  End.

  Mayan Time

  by Erik Orrantia

  Shane could hardly believe the humidity as he pulled a small towel from his backpack and wiped the sweat from his brow. He had known that the jungle of Chiapas in southern Mexico would be beautiful and hot, but not this hot. He was accustomed to Seattle—and the rain. Still, he wouldn’t have missed this for the world. The great Mayan prophecy, the merging of two worlds, was right around the corner in 2012. Many people said that energy was converging now in the many Mayan ruins.

  After finally graduating from college, getting a real job, and saving up for a long-deserved vacation, there had been no question about where he was going to go. For him, this was hardly a vacation, actually. It was the answer to a calling that he had felt since childhood. He knew he had Mexican roots in his blood, ancient Mexican roots, but his family had lost its ties with them in their time in the vast melting pot of the United States. But when he took a class on the history of Mesoamerica, he couldn’t get enough; he had finally begun to understand what that calling was all about.

  Mike wasn’t thrilled about it. Of course, he wouldn’t have been thrilled about anything that would mean that Shane was leaving him for a while. So Mike used his typical tactics: he glommed on to Shane’s family’s fears about him going so far from home and about the rumors of the Zapatista guerillas that would kidnap tourists to fund their rebellion. When that didn’t deter Shane, Mike threw a drunken tantrum, which included broken dishes and all night sobbing. But Shane made it clear that he was going no matter what. So Mike finally succumbed, and insisted on domineering Shane’s travel plans and itinerary. And he topped it off with a gift of five hundred dollars. The real gift, Shane knew, was that Mike didn’t figure out a way of coming along.

  A pair of pizotes came out of the jungle and onto the trail; the badgers, or White-nosed Coati, at the entire site were so used to people that they approached Shane fearlessly, stood up on two feet, and wiggled their noses, hoping for a food donation. But Shane had a long day ahead of him, and a lot of stairs to climb; he’d have to keep his food for himself.

  Palenque was full this time of year. Shane had carefully studied his guidebook and tourist map, and knew that the summer solstice, especially just before 2012, would attract many visitors. Some seemed to come for spiritual reasons—they stood atop the high pyramids and meditated, closing their eyes as if to breathe in the surroundings. Yet others were here on an outing with their children: white tourists and Mexican families with numerous youngsters who ran about indiscriminately and noisily. That was why Shane was determined to steer away from the centerpiece of the site, the Palace with the famous pagoda-style tower. He’d follow the Otulum River south, beyond the Acropolis, and to the Temple of the Jaguar. He checked his Bulova. It was already one o’clock.
He heaved his backpack up on his shoulder and began walking double time.

  He walked half an hour before he reached the temple. It was smaller than the rest, perhaps less impressive, but it was quieter, not a single soul in sight. This was the solitude that he yearned for.

  Shane walked to the base of the broad stairs, twenty or so in all, that led up to what looked like a single chamber atop a small sort of pyramid formed by concentric squares of stone. Grass grew on the ledges formed by the squares, though the earth and rubble had not been removed in some parts, which reminded him that, before these temples were excavated, they appeared to be nothing but small hills. Every hill around here could be another forgotten temple.

  Halfway up the stairs, Shane stopped for a drink of bottled water. The face of an iguana protruded from a hole in the grey stairs but retreated quickly when Shane turned its way. Great black birds looked down on him from the high branches of the surrounding trees.

  Shane looked up to the Temple of the Jaguar which now seemed to beckon him. There was a wide opening separated into three by two rectangular columns. The stone frieze was dark and stained by time; any adornments had disappeared long before. On top of the roof was a strange stone structure of shelves and columns; they formed dozens of tiny nooks that might have been intended for statues or carvings though they were filled only with moss and plants that now grew there. Shane thought of pulling out his camera but was more compelled to enter the chamber and answer the beckon.

  As seemed apparent in most of the ruins, the rock inside the chamber was rough and worn. But the back wall of the chamber, protected from the sun and weather, was incredibly intact. Shane stepped in closer toward it, his eyes adjusting to the shadow. He looked up to the vaulted ceiling where brown bats squeaked and squirmed in the highest reaches.

  “Bahlum,” he heard whispered. He looked about the small chamber but no one was there. He chuckled at his imagination.

  There was a mural on the wall protected by a chain link fence in a makeshift wooden frame about a yard from the wall’s surface. It was the red figure of a Mayan ruler with a jaguar mask atop its head. It stood beside another man whose head was bowed and who grasped at his side a green serpent as if it were a staff. Surrounding the figures was a number of hieroglyphs painted in rows and columns; they were symbols still not deciphered by the leading archaeologists of the Mayan realm.