The Storm

A woman with brown braids kneels before a tall man. She sucks him. The whole scene is observed by her blonde-haired sister nearby. The wind gathers strength. Suddenly, the woman’s jaws clamp shut, and blood spurts. The man lets out a scream and jerks back, hands clutching his groin. He runs in endless circles around himself. From time to time, he lifts his hands as if to confirm that what has happened has indeed happened, and yes, his penis is gone. Meanwhile, the woman spits out the severed member, and it falls to the grass. Together, the sisters rise and shove the man, sending him tumbling over the cliff’s edge. The last I see of him is a vanishing foot.

I hurry to the cliff’s edge to peer over. What I catch is a final tumbling somersault, followed by the contents of his head splattering across the rocks in a fan-like spray. The woman with the braids is back on her knees. She smiles at me, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth.

“Shall I suck you, my lord?”

Since my pants are double-layered, my penis must be maneuvered through two openings. I place my penis in her mouth. The blonde sister, melancholic by nature, watches with her gaze half-turned away. Instead, she finds the remnants of the man’s manhood in the grass, picks it up, and nibbles on it thoughtfully. My own gaze rises to the horizon, under the diligent attention of a tongue.

There, in the distance, I see a ship in distress, caught in an ever-rising wind. The ship is driven toward the rocks, where its bow shatters, and the keel slowly vanishes beneath the waves. Countless bodies slide from the deck into the churning sea. I groan loudly. Both sisters have come to me now. The blonde has latched onto my testicles, the braided one envelops me completely, and I pray. To what do I pray? Only to that which is present.

Splitting lightning bolts in the sky. The relentless drumming of rain. The roar of gusts that steal my breath, each force its own negation. I scream to the rain, the wind, and the water that now strikes my bare chest. My shirt, long since torn off and discarded, sailed down the cliff. The sisters’ blonde and brown heads take turns bobbing rhythmically at my groin.

In this place, where a rugged coast lets corpses drift pale on frothing waves, where the wind lifts chest and heart, where a lightning flash splits the brain in two, I finally let myself go before the two sisters, Irpa and Thorgerd Hølgebrud. My fists rise, and I scream to Odin.

I seize the foolish braided locks and a blonde dove-like head, and set to fucking their mouths hard. The spray of all my manhood’s force hits Thorgerd, and she pulls back, clutching her throat as semen runs from her nostrils. The final spurts I aim at blonde Irpa, who turns her face away in shyness. I wipe my penis on a blonde and a brown head.

With hands behind my back, I stroll away, pondering the thoughts that befall only a warrior-poet.