Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 28414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 114(@250wpm)___ 95(@300wpm)
Sure enough, after what feels like hours, but is probably only forty-five minutes, I hike to the bank of a babbling brook. The water looks clear and fresh, and I kneel by it, feeling grateful. My throat is parched and while I still have plenty of drinking water, it’ll be nice to replenish my supply. Quickly, I fumble for my thermos when suddenly, something flashes in the corner of my eye. Immediately, I go still. What was that?
My spidey sense tingles, and sensing danger, I back off into the shade of the forest. My feet are silent, and thankfully, there’s no sound of crackling branches or loose stones. Instead, I’m able to disappear into the foliage, even if my backpack is still there by the bank of the river.
The flash comes again, and I realize that there’s a clearing to my left. Not a clearing, actually. It’s just a semi-open space in the center of a ring of trees. Even crazier, there are human figures moving inside. I creep closer, clutching my water bottle to my chest. Are these the people who built the causeway?
But then, my eyes go wide because indeed, there are human beings standing in a circle beneath the canopy of trees. Even crazier, it looks to be an all-male gathering, but these aren’t just average dudes with dad bods and paunchy stomachs. Instead, these men are gorgeous. They’re tall, at least six four or six five, with bronzed skin, broad shoulders, and rugged, masculine features. Even crazier, they’re dressed only in loincloths, revealing taut six packs, as well as strong pecs and powerful arms. They beat on drums while pacing in a circle, humming a mysterious chant.
But that’s when the air in my lungs evaporates because I see that these aren’t normal men, at least not in the way I’ve come to expect. Because as they move in a circle, their loincloths fly up a bit, and I’m able to see clearly what’s underneath. These men have not one dick … but two. All of the men have two appendages swinging to and fro beneath the material of their loincloths, and they’re absolutely huge. I can see that some have dual appendages connected to one set of balls, whereas others have two appendages connected to two sets of balls. Some have bulges at the base of their members, and some are gloriously lined with pulsing, throbbing veins. My eyes practically pop out of my head while my knees go weak because it seems I’ve discovered a secret isle of men … all of whom have double-dicks!
5
Drake
We hum and chant while beating on drums, slowly circling in the shade of the forest. The glade is nice. The breeze keeps the air at a comfortably cool temperature, and the trees overhead are giant behemoths, bending towards us as if in benediction. Beside me, the fellow men of Deux continue to hum and chant, their handsome features drawn in concentration.
After all, we’re a secret society that meets on the Isle of Deux. I’m not sure who established the group, or even the history of this sacred island. I just know that we are a community of men with two cocks each – and that we like to gather on occasion in order to swap tales and share war stories.
I know how it sounds: how the fuck did all these guys get two dicks? Where did you come from? Why do you even exist? Alas, the answers aren’t obvious. I’m still learning myself, although of course, I’m aware of the basics.
But all of that is for later. At the moment, my brothers and I are engaged in a ceremony. We’re not worshipping anyone or anything in particular. Instead, we’re trying to attune ourselves to the rhythms of the earth, as corny as that sounds. In particular, as a fisherman, I’m hoping for an enormous haul the next time I’m out on the lake, and if I need to light incense and chant myself hoarse, then so be it.
Perhaps my skepticism is obvious because across the way, Stone catches my eye. He’s a handsome fucker, and the leader of our tribe of double-cocked men. His jaw tightens as he literally glares at me, but I refuse to be cowed. That asshole can glower all he wants. All I care about is the fish, the weather, and my boat. So long as those are in working order, then I’m good to go.
I step forwards, sonorously humming my part of the chant. It’s an atonal melody that’s a little jarring to the ears. Freaky-sounding even. Nonetheless, another voice joins in, and we harmonize for a few bars before moving onto the next stanza.
Suddenly, a crackle disrupts my concentration. I look around, still chanting. Did the other guys hear it? They continue to hum, still singing while beating on their drums. Maybe it was my imagination. But then a few minutes later, during another lull in the music, I hear it again. There’s another sharp crack, and I wonder if it’s an animal lurking in the bushes. But suspicion begins to grow in my chest because that’s unlikely. Generally, wild animals run for their lives when humans are in the vicinity. They’re smart and their instincts tell them that an apex predator is on the prowl. There’s no way a wild animal would voluntarily wander near a circle of loud, noisy men beating on drums.