The Poet's Balls [partial]
Editors Note: Rob Crabs (pen name: Rufus H. Crabwert) was perhaps the most influential and famous gentleman explorer of the previous century, and was once dubbed 'the most famous extant pony of the Empire.' He combined tales of explicit sexual encounters with the 'otherness' of the far-away west, titillating men and women of high-society alike. Crabs' tales were so graphically offensive for their time that an underground movement was formed; a black market developed for his work. This only heightened the coveted popularity of Crabs' travel letters. Even now, some of the Crabwert Letters are as-yet undiscovered, and some presumed lost forever.
Always bear in mind as you read this excerpt that he lived in sexually repressed times, so the undue importance he put on describing his sexual encounters was as much a political act (he was a strong advocate for stag sovereignty) as it was a method of self-promotion.
Though we now know that Crabs had Byronic flare for tall tales, it is still to be determined how much of his work is truly fact or fiction. We are still to discover the so-called Gold Temple of the Bears [Rufus Crabwert and the Tale of the Giant Bear].
Further, while all scholars agree he did indeed travel across the west during this five year period, there is a great deal left unsaid in his published works. On return to the Empire he had a tigress wife, yet she was never mentioned in any of the Crabwert Letters. In many ways the true story of Rob Crabs is a much more interesting tale, and one that we will never be able to truly piece together.
When reading, please do take into account the sensibilities of the time. Crabs was very forward thinking, but still in many ways had a colonial mindset, and this should always be remembered. His writings have just as much to teach us about the psychology of an empire in decline and its struggle for sexual revolt, as it does about the city of [sic] H'yuk and the surrounding basin during the last two-hundred years.
Dear reader,
Again it is I, your humble servant, Rufus H. Crabwert; the famous pony, poet, and lover.
I must extend my gratitude to your kindly disposition. In purchasing these lowly correspondence you have generously donated to me my food and shelter. I hope that as I traverse deeper into darkest Western Continent that my adventures will still amuse you for many months to come. The tales of my deeds would simply not be possible without your benevolent support.
Before I leave to you my simple yarn, I must earnestly inform you that I am preparing to return once again to the ancient serpent city of H'yuk. [Rufus Crabwert and the curse of the Lizard God] It is here I intend to resupply before crossing the Astral Mountains. In the coming weeks I hope to meet the bear tribes of the far west: legend speaks of these noble savages and how they jealously guard their ancient temples of solid gold, of which I intend to seek out for myself. It is my grave duty to say that the journey ahead is so perilous that if I am not to write again it may be safe to assume me dead.
As always the modest equine that I am, the story I am about to tell for you of my daring adventures on the high seas will take place in the third person. Despite this, the facts as I tell them to you are entirely true and have not been exaggerated in any respect.
Yours faithfully,
Ever your humble servant,
Rufus Humphrey Crabwert Esquire II
Rufus Crabwert and the Fight of the Captain's Jewel
Our story takes place under a full moon on balmy, continental night upon a sailing ship. The sea is dead, with inky depths - black with deceit - ready to swallow the becalmed vessel at any moment.
Above in the crow's nest sits a pony. He is lithe and beautiful, with a mane so pitch the moonshine burnishes his entire body like chalk upon slate.
The pony is of course, our beloved Rufus. Returning from Papa'gi [Rufus Crabwert and the Ghost of the Dodo] he had secured passage upon the nearest ship across the Serpent Sea.
The peoples of this ship are an unusual species hitherto unknown to the Empire. They are cats most definitely, but a particular tribe of cat not known to the civilized world. With velvet, coal-like fur, they called themselves the Panther [PAN-THE-R], and have no fear of heights or climbing. They take to the rigging like ducks to water.
The Panther do not wear clothes, and all twenty bold crewmen manned the ship with their sheaths and testes on full display without fear of reprisal. Rufus, proud yet modest, initially refused to partake of their strange custom, but soon knew the necessity.
As the sun set below the horizon, the heat of day did not let up to the cool of night. The clammy atmosphere only continued to such a point clothes became unbearable and the sea-air insufferable. Rufus, his clothes wet with perspiration, peeled off what little he wore to alleviate his body from the hellish humidity of night. He then deigned himself first watch within the crow's nest, in the hopes that elevation would alleviate the discomfort he even now still feels.
The pony is exhausted from the heat, and the lack of wind made this stuck vessel and its oppressive miasma all the worse. He sits, legs splayed, with his magnificent tackle hanging low and away from his body. Rufus, though trying his utmost, can not fight this unfamiliar continental heat and slowly he drifts off to sleep; as much as this author is shamed to admit it.
When the pony awakes, it is a rude awakening to see a form looking down upon him. The form has fur pitch-as-black, with piercing eyes the colour of amber. Rufus - instincts kicking in - quickly reached for his knife, cursing as he realized he is naked and defenceless.
The form kneels in one swift motion, approaching the pony carefully.
"Good evening, Rufus," the form whispers to the pony in broken serpent - the only common language they spoke - "I see you are a heavy sleeper!" The cat cackles softly in that way that only cats can cackle, and Rufus is relieved to realise that the cat is Huju, the ship's captain.
Huju is now straddling Rufus, their gazes locked. "If you were one of my men, who fell asleep on watch," Huju whispers in a level tone, "I would throw you overboard."
There is a pause of deafening silence that not even the gulls dare break
"Luckily for you," Huju continues, "that you are not one of my men." The panther now gestures about himself, "the wind is dead, we are becalmed. So are our enemies. So your mistake is not such a big mistake after all. I think. No?" Huju chuckles, now sinking along the body of the stallion. The cat's face is now close to Rufus' sheath.
"My gravest apologies, Captain Huju," the pony whispers. He can not move, the captain has him pinned, and his nether regions are now exposed to the captain in a lurid display much akin to a mare in heat.
From this angle Rufus can see the small of the Panther's back and buttocks. Rufus is a virile young man with a swimmer's build, and he realises that though the cat gives an authoritative air of elder command, he is much the same age and build, the captain is a lithe young thing that is almost womanly in grace. He feels - for one guilty moment - a deep throb in his sheath as he observes the onyx form of the Panther captain.
"Good," the Panther replies, "though, that is not why I am here tonight." The cat begins to fondle Rufus' testes without provocation. "These are big," the cat says, massaging one in each hand, "like eggs. I wonder if all of your kind are this large, Rufus?"
"It would not be becoming to brag," the pony whispers, staring down with shock as the naked captain manhandles his crown jewels. Rufus's manhood, ever the uninvited guest, begins to peek from it confining sheath.
"On Panther ships," says Huju, now nuzzling the balls of the stallion, "it is customary for young kits to worship the testes of their elders. The sea goddess demands we respect the core of manhood. Maybe she will release us from this windless night if we worship your magnificent core, Rufus."
Rufus stares down at the captain fawning over his manhood. "Perhaps..." is all he could manage, weakly.
Like silent shadows more panthers clamber across the rigging into the crow's nest. Three, perhaps four? It is difficult for Rufus to distinctively pick one out from the crowd; his only clue is the way they blot out the stars as they move across the night sky.
Creeping up upon the stallion, more virile young men surround Rufus. Before the pony has a change to protest, one is kissing him deeply, while others pull at his knees, bringing them up above the pony's head.
Rufus gasps as two young men take a teste each within their maws, sucking and pulling gently, letting no inch of the pony's mighty eggs go unexplored. Yet another young man positions himself between his brethren, and begins to worship the pony's fundament with his tongue. The feeling of three men fawning over the stallion's most intimate depths is explosive, and Rufus's swarthy member grows as hard as cast iron within moments; proudly dwarfing the cats' ruddy erections jutting out in the muggy night air.
"Good, your virility will please the goddess," muses Huju. But, you must also respect your elders."
The panther now squats over the pony, his full sack dangling and glistening in the pale moonshine above Rufus' muzzle. Rufus nods eagerly, taking one firm buttocks of the captain in each hand, he nuzzled his face deep into the panther's sack. 'I intends to give this pushy captain a worshiping to remember,' he thinks.
The captain, Huju, has a fine pair, not low hanging and large like that of a stallion, but held tight against the body; so full looking as if ready to burst.
[Remainder lost due to water damage.]