clothes.
"Tog," she
said. "No. Don't go. Tog, it's nothing. Talk to me, Tog. Tog. Wait!"
But, when she clutched
at him, he broke free and fled, still fastening his garments. He was so
embarrassed he could not endure her presence. He wanted to die. Or bury himself
in a hole for half a thousand years.
He escaped to the autumn
air and stalked through the streets, furious. Raging. Hating himself and the
world and his own rebellious flesh. He had failed absolutely and miserably at a
man's most important test. He was worse than nothing. He was disgraced. He
would never be able to look Day in the face again. She knew!
When his half-brother
Cromarty had accused him of being a day-dreaming masturbator, that had been bad
enough. But he had been able to deny it with a straight face, even though it
was true. After all, masturbation was furtively acknowledged or hinted at by
many. But to fail with a woman!
Togura remembered
Cromarty boasting about Toff the milkmaid:
"She was hot, boys.
Hot, drunk and flat on her back. So I stuck it in to the hilt. Rammed it in.
She loved it. She begged for more. I gave it."
Everyone had their
stories. Even Togura had his stories, though his were not true. (Could
Cromarty's be untrue? He'd like to think so, but it was difficult. Cromarty was
so brash, so arrogant, so confident.)
Brooding on his
disaster, Togura grimly resolved that tonight would be the night, no matter
what. He could never face Day again, but he would find a way. He would lose his
virginity by morning, or die in the attempt.
Thus resolved, he bent
his footsteps toward the townhouse of Melladona, one of the town's five whores,
and rumoured to be the cheapest. She was awake and working; she had only lately
discharged her last customer. He struck a bargain and paid.
He thought himself
confident.
But when he actually saw
her rancid flesh, her flaccid thighs, the fat veins snaking up her legs, the
stale bruises and the odd blotched marks on her breasts, and the crinkling scar
running from her neck to her naval, his courage failed. In her cold and narrow
room, his worm disgraced him by shrinking to a cringing stump of flesh scarcely
the size of a thumb.
He asked for his money
back.
Melladona laughed, then,
realising he was serious, attacked him. After he escaped into the street, she
cursed him from the window. Trying to recover something from the debacle, he
eased his ego by shouting a few well-chosen insults. Melladona responded
promptly by emptying her chamber pot over his head.
Togura eventually washed
himself off in someone's rain water barrel, then, sadder but not necessarily
wiser, mooched through the night to the Wordsmiths' Stronghold. The gate was
open, and someone, dressed in a winterweight coat and swaddled in a blanket,
was sitting by the gate waiting for him.
"Togura
Poulaan!" said Day Suet severely as he approached. "So there you are
at last. Well? Aren't you grateful to see me? Don't you realise you're lucky to
see me at all? Running off into the night like that! Stupid fellow! Most girls
would have given you away forever."
"Day," said
Togura, not knowing what to say.
She had come for him.
She was his. This must be true love! But, all the same, she was a source of
mortification to him. She knew! Standing in the light of the gatelamp, he
hesitated.
"Don't just stand
there, stupid!" said Day, impatiently. "Kiss me!"
Togura gathered her into
his arms, and they kissed.
"Now take me
inside," said Day, "And get me something to eat. It's cold out here,
and I'm hungry."
"I don't know if
the brothers would approve," said Togura.
Day kicked him in the
shins, hard.
"I'm running out
"Tog," she
said. "No. Don't go. Tog, it's nothing. Talk to me, Tog. Tog. Wait!"
But, when she clutched
at him, he broke free and fled, still fastening his garments. He was so
embarrassed he could not endure her presence. He wanted to die. Or bury himself
in a hole for half a thousand years.
He escaped to the autumn
air and stalked through the streets, furious. Raging. Hating himself and the
world and his own rebellious flesh. He had failed absolutely and miserably at a
man's most important test. He was worse than nothing. He was disgraced. He
would never be able to look Day in the face again. She knew!
When his half-brother
Cromarty had accused him of being a day-dreaming masturbator, that had been bad
enough. But he had been able to deny it with a straight face, even though it
was true. After all, masturbation was furtively acknowledged or hinted at by
many. But to fail with a woman!
Togura remembered
Cromarty boasting about Toff the milkmaid:
"She was hot, boys.
Hot, drunk and flat on her back. So I stuck it in to the hilt. Rammed it in.
She loved it. She begged for more. I gave it."
Everyone had their
stories. Even Togura had his stories, though his were not true. (Could
Cromarty's be untrue? He'd like to think so, but it was difficult. Cromarty was
so brash, so arrogant, so confident.)
Brooding on his
disaster, Togura grimly resolved that tonight would be the night, no matter
what. He could never face Day again, but he would find a way. He would lose his
virginity by morning, or die in the attempt.
Thus resolved, he bent
his footsteps toward the townhouse of Melladona, one of the town's five whores,
and rumoured to be the cheapest. She was awake and working; she had only lately
discharged her last customer. He struck a bargain and paid.
He thought himself
confident.
But when he actually saw
her rancid flesh, her flaccid thighs, the fat veins snaking up her legs, the
stale bruises and the odd blotched marks on her breasts, and the crinkling scar
running from her neck to her naval, his courage failed. In her cold and narrow
room, his worm disgraced him by shrinking to a cringing stump of flesh scarcely
the size of a thumb.
He asked for his money
back.
Melladona laughed, then,
realising he was serious, attacked him. After he escaped into the street, she
cursed him from the window. Trying to recover something from the debacle, he
eased his ego by shouting a few well-chosen insults. Melladona responded
promptly by emptying her chamber pot over his head.
Togura eventually washed
himself off in someone's rain water barrel, then, sadder but not necessarily
wiser, mooched through the night to the Wordsmiths' Stronghold. The gate was
open, and someone, dressed in a winterweight coat and swaddled in a blanket,
was sitting by the gate waiting for him.
"Togura
Poulaan!" said Day Suet severely as he approached. "So there you are
at last. Well? Aren't you grateful to see me? Don't you realise you're lucky to
see me at all? Running off into the night like that! Stupid fellow! Most girls
would have given you away forever."
"Day," said
Togura, not knowing what to say.
She had come for him.
She was his. This must be true love! But, all the same, she was a source of
mortification to him. She knew! Standing in the light of the gatelamp, he
hesitated.
"Don't just stand
there, stupid!" said Day, impatiently. "Kiss me!"
Togura gathered her into
his arms, and they kissed.
"Now take me
inside," said Day, "And get me something to eat. It's cold out here,
and I'm hungry."
"I don't know if
the brothers would approve," said Togura.
Day kicked him in the
shins, hard.
"I'm running out
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