Read Online Cthulhurotica by Cody Goodfellow, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Jennifer Brozek, Ahimsa Kerp, Carrie Cuinn, Gabrielle Harbowy, Don Pizarro, Madison Woods, Richard Baron, Juan Miguel Marin, Maria Mitchell, Mae Empson, Nathan Crowder, KV Taylor, Andrew Scearce, Constella Espj, Leon J. West, Travis King, Steven J. Searce, Clint Collins, Matthew Marovich, Gary Mark Bernstein, Kirsten Brown, Kenneth Hite, Justin Everett - Free Book Online
Authors: Cody Goodfellow, Silvia Moreno-Garcia, Jennifer Brozek, Ahimsa Kerp, Carrie Cuinn, Gabrielle Harbowy, Don Pizarro, Madison Woods, Richard Baron, Juan Miguel Marin, Maria Mitchell, Mae Empson, Nathan Crowder, KV Taylor, Andrew Scearce, Constella Espj, Leon J. West, Travis King, Steven J. Searce, Clint Collins, Matthew Marovich, Gary Mark Bernstein, Kirsten Brown, Kenneth Hite, Justin Everett
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the waterfall, my bare feet noiselessly stepping over the dream sand, my bare skin exposed to the cool air, barely covered only by a loincloth. The rushing sound of the water cascading will soon become the seductive voice saying only one word, almost a whisper: “Come.”
There. I hear it.
The voice appeals to my body’s instincts, sending to slumber the scientist in me, lulling to sleep my rational mind. I fight it. I keep my mind alert by keeping in mind the facts.
Fact one: the dream’s origin lies in something mundane: the voice recorded as publicity for my recently acquired Edison phonograph prototype.
Fact two: I helped the American inventor, Herr Thomas Alva Edison, with the physics behind the acoustics and received a phonograph as gift.
Fact three: I listened to the phonograph’s voice so now, whoever the actor with the androgynous voice is, has now become embodied in my fantasy. But I have to admit something erotic about the test voice emerges when combined with the rushing waterfall, its rushing white noise serving as stage for the voice revealing itself:
I am the Edison phonograph, created by the great wizard of the New World to delight those who would have melody or be amused. I can sing you tender songs of love. I can give you merry tales and joyous laughter. I can transport you to the realms of music. I can cause you to join in the rhythmic dance. I can lull the babe to sweet repose, or waken in the aged heart soft memories of youthful days.
No matter what may be your mood, I am always ready to entertain you. When your day’s work is done, when your wife is worried after the cares of the day, when the children are boisterous, I can rest both of you and quiet the other. I never get tired and you will never tire of me, for I will always have something new to offer.
I give pleasure to all, young and old. My voice is the clearest, smoothest and most natural of any talking machine. The name of my famous master is on my body, and tells you that I am a genuine Edison phonograph. The more you become acquainted with me, the better you will like me. Ask the dealer.
I did. Edison introduced me to the beautiful whispering voice of his machine, the voice now embodying itself in a beautiful blond youth emerging out of the waterfall’s pool depths…
In the first lucid dream I could glimpse only a young, pale, androgynous face, which the water ripples sometimes hid, sometimes revealed. I could not tell whether the attractive stranger was a boy or a girl. I could only notice the blond-auburn hair, pale skin of a healthy pinkish color, rose-colored cheeks, rosy red lips, and the eyes…ah, the eyes of the deepest turquoise, as deep and watery as the light but darkening blue of pool’s bottom. Now in this lucid dream, she or he, turns around and stands. I see now a beautiful backside. Like mine, also covered with nothing but a loincloth. My scientific curiosity tries to find out more about those lovely hips but the mist prevents me. As in the previous dream, the youth asks “So, what do you want me to do?”
He then says (and I realize that this time, it is a he, though he still doesn’t look at me): “I know it’s cold. Just dip in slowly.”
I step closer and say, “Untie the knot of your loincloth. Let it go.” He does, revealing his beautiful bottom. I go on, “Now come and untie mine.” He turns around and his face approaches mine. Still looking at me, he slips my loincloth off, never ceasing to smile. When we are both naked, I put my arms around him and press my lips against his neck. I inhale the smell of his wet hair. He laughs and turns around. I try to reach his nipples, still trying to know for certain the gender of my fantasy. But he laughs again, and stops my hands with his. He caresses the soft hairs of my arms and then I notice he is not any more a boy. He becomes the girl of a previous dream, the dreamy girl with blond auburn hair and small breasts, her boyish chest almost as flat
There. I hear it.
The voice appeals to my body’s instincts, sending to slumber the scientist in me, lulling to sleep my rational mind. I fight it. I keep my mind alert by keeping in mind the facts.
Fact one: the dream’s origin lies in something mundane: the voice recorded as publicity for my recently acquired Edison phonograph prototype.
Fact two: I helped the American inventor, Herr Thomas Alva Edison, with the physics behind the acoustics and received a phonograph as gift.
Fact three: I listened to the phonograph’s voice so now, whoever the actor with the androgynous voice is, has now become embodied in my fantasy. But I have to admit something erotic about the test voice emerges when combined with the rushing waterfall, its rushing white noise serving as stage for the voice revealing itself:
I am the Edison phonograph, created by the great wizard of the New World to delight those who would have melody or be amused. I can sing you tender songs of love. I can give you merry tales and joyous laughter. I can transport you to the realms of music. I can cause you to join in the rhythmic dance. I can lull the babe to sweet repose, or waken in the aged heart soft memories of youthful days.
No matter what may be your mood, I am always ready to entertain you. When your day’s work is done, when your wife is worried after the cares of the day, when the children are boisterous, I can rest both of you and quiet the other. I never get tired and you will never tire of me, for I will always have something new to offer.
I give pleasure to all, young and old. My voice is the clearest, smoothest and most natural of any talking machine. The name of my famous master is on my body, and tells you that I am a genuine Edison phonograph. The more you become acquainted with me, the better you will like me. Ask the dealer.
I did. Edison introduced me to the beautiful whispering voice of his machine, the voice now embodying itself in a beautiful blond youth emerging out of the waterfall’s pool depths…
In the first lucid dream I could glimpse only a young, pale, androgynous face, which the water ripples sometimes hid, sometimes revealed. I could not tell whether the attractive stranger was a boy or a girl. I could only notice the blond-auburn hair, pale skin of a healthy pinkish color, rose-colored cheeks, rosy red lips, and the eyes…ah, the eyes of the deepest turquoise, as deep and watery as the light but darkening blue of pool’s bottom. Now in this lucid dream, she or he, turns around and stands. I see now a beautiful backside. Like mine, also covered with nothing but a loincloth. My scientific curiosity tries to find out more about those lovely hips but the mist prevents me. As in the previous dream, the youth asks “So, what do you want me to do?”
He then says (and I realize that this time, it is a he, though he still doesn’t look at me): “I know it’s cold. Just dip in slowly.”
I step closer and say, “Untie the knot of your loincloth. Let it go.” He does, revealing his beautiful bottom. I go on, “Now come and untie mine.” He turns around and his face approaches mine. Still looking at me, he slips my loincloth off, never ceasing to smile. When we are both naked, I put my arms around him and press my lips against his neck. I inhale the smell of his wet hair. He laughs and turns around. I try to reach his nipples, still trying to know for certain the gender of my fantasy. But he laughs again, and stops my hands with his. He caresses the soft hairs of my arms and then I notice he is not any more a boy. He becomes the girl of a previous dream, the dreamy girl with blond auburn hair and small breasts, her boyish chest almost as flat
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