Fable of Happiness (Fable 1)

At least my mind was calmer than it had been this morning. Summer was my favorite time of the year. The season where food grew easy, the forest was alive with activity, and I could run without needing to bundle up in clothing.

Today, I just wore a pair of tight gray boxer briefs. I’d returned to the house after the birds spooked to dress. However, I wasn’t in the mood for clothing. I wasn’t in the mood to be human. Briefs had been the only item I selected, purely for support purposes. I wouldn’t even wear those if it didn’t hurt. I’d tried running naked a few times. I’d cupped myself and done my best to prevent gravity from tugging on my balls, but I’d had to concede when I started getting hard.

I fucking hated getting hard.

It filled me with self-disgust.

It made me ache for something I couldn’t have and hunger for things that were pure evil.

Touching myself to wash was one thing. Touching myself to rid that tangled heat in my blood was entirely another.

It was vile.

My teeth clenched together. I hadn’t meant to let my thoughts stray. They didn’t often go to forbidden territory, but today seemed to be intent on destroying me. First the sleepwalking and now the heavy ache inside me. If running wouldn’t stop such things, perhaps a swim would.

Veering off course, I ran away from the sweeping hillsides that led to the top of the valley and followed a narrow animal track to the river.

Bowling out from the trees, I didn’t stop.

The blue beckoned me.

The cleansing promise of the water summoned me faster.

I leaped off the edge and dived into the deep swimming hole that housed fish, eels, and the occasional crayfish that lived in the cave system.

I plummeted down, sinking to the bottom as fresh water consumed me. Wetness washed away my sweat, cooled the nasty aches in my belly, and reminded me, like all the times before, that it was okay to have needs. I was no different from the bears and squirrels who fucked in the forest. It was nature. It was natural.

Still doesn’t mean I’m interested.

My hands went to my hips and shoved off the boxer briefs. Ripping them down my legs, I bunched them up and swam nude. Swimming naked was pleasurable. Running naked was not.

At least with nothing cupping me, I could forget the tightness of cotton. I could calm down and allow the heat in my blood to vanish.

The temptation to let the boxers float away came strong, but I ignored it.

I’d done that one too many times, and the available options in the house had dwindled to just a few pairs. Once they wore out, I’d have nothing. Therefore, I’d keep this pair even though I preferred to wear nothing for as long as the season permitted.

I didn’t know how long I remained in the river, floating on the surface before ducking and gliding along the bottom. Hunger for food finally overshadowed my hunger for sex, and I climbed reluctantly from the watery embrace.

Droplets cascaded down my torso and legs as I strode back toward the ivy-shrouded house. My cock bounced against my thighs, once again turning hard despite my self-disgust.

I’d thought, as more time passed, that those urges would fade. In the beginning, I’d been blessedly free from wanting any form of sexual release. Unfortunately, it’d become rather insistent the past couple of years.

The cramping in my balls. The hardness between my legs. My body’s demands for pleasure always went unanswered, but it cost me. It made my temper spike and frustration bubble.

Stop it.

Ignore it, and it will pass.

Fisting the boxers, I focused on getting home. Once I’d eaten and done my daily chores, I could lose myself in a book. Perhaps, I’d find one I hadn’t already read. Or I could finally lower the chandelier in the entrance hall and clean the crystals. I hadn’t done that for years and had been putting it off for too long.

It was a bitch of a job, but it was the only part of the house that hinted at the filth existing within the walls, and it bothered me.

My mind continued to bounce from work to what I should cook. I’d have to start conserving crops soon. The endless task of freezing, drying, and preparing a larder for winter.

I’d gotten pretty good at prepping. Supposed it was thanks to the third winter when I’d finally exhausted the large amount of produce that’d been stored here and almost starved.

I hadn’t planned ahead.

I’d gone hungry.

For months, I survived on scrawny game and river water. By the time spring came and the snow left, I’d read every book in the library on cultivation and put the many packets of seeds in the storeroom to use.

If it’s this hot this summer, it means an equally cold winter is on its way.