Lives and Death – Introduction

I was born in a brothel.

Brothel is the word for it. It wasn’t so pretentious as to be called a bordello or house of ill-repute. They weren’t whores though. We were a family. When my mother died in childbirth, they took it upon themselves to raise me. I cried in their arms (rarely), suckled at their breasts, and slept in their beds, a different one almost every night. I grew up happy, surrounded by love – or something like it. After a while, I died. A sixteen year old virgin, stone digging into my back, cloth covering my eyes, and oblivion onrushing.

A year older, I woke up.

I was muzzy-headed, and the morning sun was fierce through the window of… whoever’s room I was in. I was nearing a man’s age now, but the girls still passed me to and fro as if I were some pet to snuggle to at night. The first time I woke with a hardness between my thighs (and hers!) I was embarrassed, but soon enough it was commonplace. My aunt laughed, of course. A teddy bear with a man’s equipment, how humorous.

I groaned and shielded my eyes from the unrelenting rays. My other hand subconsciously went to my penis, which was sore in need. It felt so good to hold it that I carried on and stroked it lazily, groaning as I did so. I knew I should stop; I would get no thanks for soiling sheets, but I also knew that I was alone, which was rare, and it felt so good, like I hadn’t pleasured myself for a long time. Soon enough I was spurting all over the sheets, and seconds later I was halfway across the decidedly foreign room. After I spilled my seed a pair of golden symbols had risen from my penis and were hovering just above the bedclothes.

+1

They soon disappeared – not quickly enough for me. I gaped at the empty bed, then grabbed the sheets and looked around this strange place. No room of any of my aunts’ looked like this. There were richly dyed fabrics, expensive, well-crafted pieces of furniture, and books filling a bookcase in the corner. It was extremely well-kempt; I had a hard time believing anyone lived here.

First things first: being nude in a strangers house wasn’t ideal. The chest of drawers was lacking in underpants, or indeed, any clothing whatsoever. I almost panicked and left the room, but there was a sturdy green sack at the foot of the bed that yielded results. Wearing underclothes that weren’t mine wasn’t ideal but, needs must. Although… it was seeming more and more likely that they were mine, I just couldn’t remember them.

I cracked what I thought was the door out. It was an empty closet, with a mirror mounted on the back of the door. I stopped and stared. More strange than the clothes I had managed to don was the face above them. Smooth pale unblemished skin, blue eyes, cropped blonde hair, a strong lantern jaw. I was poking and prodding at ‘myself’ as the woman knocked softly and came in the door.

“Morning John!”

“Mmmorning…”

“Breakfast in five minutes!”

I just nodded.