As promised, elves do have a sex life...
I'm publishing this book on Steemit one thousand words at a time, a few times per week. Scroll down for the latest chapter.
CLICK HERE TO START FROM THE BEGINNING
What this book is about:
Everything you think you know about elves is wrong, wrong, wrong. You. Have. No. Idea! What you think you know: There are elves for Christmas. Elves for cobblers. Little winged Irish fairy elves. Short Shakespearean meddlers. Pretty, sanctimonious stuck up Tolkien types. Yes, even some dark Norse dwarves got pegged with the label. All incorrect. Flawed. Totally stupid.
This story is about how a handful of real elves and a few pathetic less-than-average humans deal with the fall of civilization. And yes, in the telling of this story, some secrets of the sex lives of elves are revealed. Hubba hubba.
WARNING: This book contains adult themes and content!
[You can more easily follow my book at wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/story/134804459-the-secret-sex-lives-of-elves ]
If you want to start at the beginning (advisable if you haven’t) click here.
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Chapter 2.1: Where Miranda Tries to be a Pig
For at least her first 1,000 years Miranda was alone from others of her kind, and, for the most part, also from humans. How she came to be is unclear to her. All she had was a jumble of memories. One of those memories is the earliest of them all, but which? And since memories are easily forgotten, how would she know if what she thought to be the first really was?
Well, the first few of her recollections were clear enough: A hazy view of sunlight through the canopy of trees. Green leaves near her face. Her first memories were of trees. It's understandable she started off in life thinking they were kin.
She didn't look anything like them, of course.
Miranda was a tall, slender creature. By human standards, she was a rare beauty. She was almost white but for her skin having a hint of gold or tan or silver, depending on... something. It's not that the colour changed. It's that you could see in one look all of those hues, only just one at a time.
Her long hair was a lighter brown, maybe tending red. Perhaps darker? Again, it was unclear. You would see one colour, then another. Never more than one, never the same twice. And was it hair, or fur? Look again. The only thing consistent about it was that it had a left part and reached to mid-back. It never grew. It never fell out. It never got in her grey eyes.
Grey? No silver. Again, you would encounter indecision.
When she eventually entered the world of humans - and, let's face it, for thousands of years that's often really just been the world of men - this paradox of viewing her led many to just stare, seeking satiation by leering longer. That never worked. Aside from her paradoxical colouring, she was wonderfully shaped. No hard edges. Her face was just damn cute, yet wise. Her smirk was playful. Her scowl beautifully defiant, inspiring regret and a willingness to please in any who saw it.
Her rump was the best nature had ever granted - if she was a creature of nature at all. Round and firm, not a sag or dimple or pimple or cellulite imperfection in sight. Her breasts were athletic. Not large, not small. Her belly was long and elegantly muscled, those oval lines leading downwards to a hairless pubic plateau. And, yes, the slide down from that promising plateau led exactly to what you'd expect to find. As promised, elves do have a sex life.
Her legs were hairless. As were her armpits. Up close, you'd find no hair anywhere on her except her head, brows and eyelashes.
For her first thousand years, Miranda could be seen in such exacting detail - if you could somehow manage to find her to see her - because she never wore clothes. She didn't need to. She never knew hot or cold as discomforting things. She never cared about dirt or worried about infection. She did not understand the concept of modesty. She had no male suitors to hide her body from. Although she did not initially understand what it meant, Miranda was immortal. The natural elements, at least the ones she had so far encountered, did not disturb her. They only depressed or elated her. Clothes simply had no role in any part of her existence. Why wear any? Why think of wearing any? All of the animals around her didn't bother.
Initially, she gave the animals little thought. They were just things doing nothing important. Like herself, she figured they were just somehow extensions of the trees. They avoided her. Insects though were not very good at being shy. They would fly by, land on or crawl across her often, as you would expect. But, being an elf, she was apparently indestructible, so no mosquitoes could bite, no ticks could burrow, and there was no sweat or bacteria of interest on her skin. She had no reaction to bugs and they had no idea what to do with her. They did not gross her out or incite any fear. She crushed a few. Seeing that they stopped functioning was admittedly a curiosity, but this was no different to her than snapping a twig or breaking open a clod of dirt. After investigating a few, she moved on.
Examining bugs gave rise to her examining herself. She once pinched a forearm hard. She felt pressure, but that was it. No pain. As soon as she let go, her flesh returned to its previous state. Not a mark was left. She pulled at her hair, but none came out. Poked an eye. Pulled a toe. Pinched a nipple. Slapped her boobs around. Got an index finger way up her nose. Stuck fingers in her mouth.
She even found that hole down there between her legs. That one was interesting.
She was quite bendable. A pornographer's dream, really. So she was able to lie on her back, get her heels behind her head, and get her face right in there to take a look. What was this all about? A nub, mounds and ridges and a slippery pit -- though not in the wet sense. Slippery in the Teflon sense. Pans coated in elf vagina wall would be no mess to clean up forever!
Understand, she had been confused about her mouth until she figured out she could make sounds and taste with her tongue (though she had no use for food or water) but what was this hole between her legs all about? She stuck some fingers in there and felt around. That was... different. Rubbing the area tickled, but she had no urges to act on. She was very young and was experiencing no erotic longings and knew nothing of sex. Though there were fantastic possibilities there, she, well, grew bored of the investigation.
-- End of Chapter 2-1 --
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