LITMIR.BIZ

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sees a small section of a shimmering room lit entirely by candles placed so close together it looks like a fire. How long did it take someone to make those, Julian thinks, knowing what a thankless and tedious task it is, and just as he thinks this—he leans on the door too hard. It swings open and he falls through.

      As he tumbles out, he knocks over the small table, and the stacked candles fall in a melting waxy jumble onto the floor. The rug fringe catches fire. Someone in the room squeals.

      “Careful! You’ll burn the house down!”

      Someone else squeals. “Well, don’t just sit there. Put it out!”

      Julian swats the rug with his bare hands and blows at the downed candles. With potential disaster averted, his eyes adjusting to the dim remaining light, he surveys the room, still on his knees.

      Before he fell into the dormered space, his plans were grand. He was prepared. He’s read, he’s fenced, he’s cave dived, he is a daredevil, he isn’t scared.

      But in this room, the plans change. Between two windows there’s a bed, and on this bed sit two naked women intertwined, pressing their breasts against one another and eyeing him with lanquid curiosity. The burning fireplace is behind them. He can’t see the women’s faces, only the contours of their naked bodies. They’re like iridescent drawings. But mostly they’re women’s naked bodies.

      “Well, hello there,” one girl says. “Where did you come from? Did you sneak in to spy on us? That costs extra, you know.” The girl has a British accent, not posh—not that he expects posh here, wherever he is. “Look at him, he’s got a beard, how delicious. Maybe we won’t charge him?”

      “Well, that would hardly be fair,” whispers the other, also in a British accent, “we charge everyone else.”

      “Oh, don’t be a ninny, let him sample the goods. We can charge him double next time, right, handsome? Come here,” the girl croons. “Come here, precious.” Two pairs of female arms reach out to him. “Don’t be shy,” the girl says, wiggling her fingers at him, motioning him forward. “Don’t be afraid of us, we won’t bite.”

      Julian gets up off the floor, stands straight. They appraise him, their smiles widening. “Well,” one girl says, “maybe bite a little.” All he can see in the semi-darkness is the whites of their teeth and the length of their brown hair. He is about to ask if he should light another candle—to see them better—but they grab his hands and pull him onto the bed, onto his back, crouching around him, interested and unafraid. They stroke his beard, pat his chest, tap his shoulders and arms, examine his necklace close to their faces, rub his stomach. “Look how warm you are, how damp you are. Why are you sweating? Are you hot?” They giggle. They pull at the wetsuit. To be helpful, Julian mutely shows them how to work the front zipper.

      The nubile girls get distracted by the zipper of a commercially made suit. With some chagrin Julian notes that they’re more fascinated by the zipper than they are by the naked man underneath it. They unzip him past his groin, and with delight zip him up to his throat. Instead of playing with Julian, they’re playing with the zipper.

      The suit is damp. His skin is damp. He had just been itchy and uncomfortable. He had just been tired and thirsty. Not anymore. He’s less the sum of all other parts than he is of the awakened primal hungry thing. He takes in their curves and dark nipples, their swaying white breasts, their loose hair and limbs amber in the candlelight. One has straight long brown hair, one wavy thick slightly shorter brown hair. One has larger breasts, one has larger hips. They’re both rounded and soft. They’re on their knees on the bed, joyfully running the polymer zipper up and down over Julian.

      This is so unexpected.

      Julian smiles.

      “Ooh, what’s this?” one girl coos.

      “Do you mean the zipper?” he asks. “Or …”

      “What’s a zipper? No, this squishy black covering all over you. How do you squirm out of it? Oh, look, it stretches. And what’s this around your neck, some kind of talisman?”

      “Yes,” he says, pulling the girl’s hand away from it and trying to glimpse into her shadowed face. “It’s some kind of talisman.”

      “How do we get you out of this unwieldy thing?”

      “You could stop playing with the zipper and pull the suit off my feet.” Julian is on his back. “Or do you want me to do it?”

      “No, no, handsome, you just lie there, you’ve done enough, don’t you think? You almost started a fire. We’ll find other things for you to do.”

      The women get off the bed and pull off his wetsuit. He feels better now that he is naked himself. He lies on a bed of silk sheets, while two young beauties, bounteous and bare, stand at his feet, lustily appraising him. They’re both delicious, both about the same height. Is one of them his? Julian hopes so. It’s hard to tell in the ghostly light. They’re both so beautiful, and he is so fired up.

      “Are you sure we should touch him? Remember what the Baroness said? What if he carries the sickness?”

      “Where are you from, sire?”

      “Wales. The unknown forest.”

      “There you go. Wales. The unknown forest. Where’s that?”

      “Over yonder,” Julian says. “Where there is no sickness.”

      “There you go. Just look at him. What sickness? I’ve never seen a healthier specimen of a man, have you?”

      “I suppose not.”

      “He is so robust, so full-bodied.”

      “He is.”

      “He’s the epitome of male health. Have you no interest in touching him where he’s especially strong and vigorous? Then leave at once. I’ll have him all to myself.”

      “I didn’t say I had no interest in touching him.”

      The girls stand, admiring him, smiling. He lies, admiring them, smiling.

      The room is warm and getting warmer. Everything that can stir in Julian, stirs, simmers, gets hotter. Everything that can be switched on and lit up is switched on and lit up.

      “What are your names, ladies?” Please let one of them be his.

      “What do you want them to be, sire?”

      “Josephine,” Julian says, his voice thick. He opens his arms.

      “Your wish is my command,” says one. “I’m Josephine.”

      Not to be outdone the other chimes in, “I’m Josephine, too.” They crawl to him, lie next to him, one on the left, the other on the right, pressing their breasts into his ribs. What good did Julian ever do in his life to deserve this? One kisses his left cheek, one kisses the right. One kisses his lips, the other pushes her away and kisses him, too. They run their hands over his body, from his long beard to his knees. They ooh. They ahh. He puts his arms around the girls, leaves his hands in their hair, one head silky and straight, the other soft and thick. He wills himself not to close his eyes.

      “What would you like, sire?” one croons in her easy sexy voice.

      “What we mean to say is, what would you like first?” the other croons in her easy sexy voice.

      “I don’t know,” he murmurs. He doesn’t know where to start. He wants it all. “What have you got?”

      A better question might be what haven’t they got.

      For his visual pleasure, the girls fondle each other leaning over him, playing with each other’s breasts. Two sets of breasts are heaved into Julian’s hands, two sets of nipples are pressed into Julian’s mouth. They fight to climb on top of him and for his auditory pleasure, argue over which one gets to mount him first, a discussion Julian deeply enjoys. After a while, he informs

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