Long Ago and Worlds Apart

I can’t speak the language here though I am only 50 miles from home.  50 miles but world away. 800 years from home. I walk a rutted track between stone walls   behind which the mountains rise. It is summer, the weather is kind this August of 1157 but the dusk is slowly closing in. I have no place to stay for the night. I speak no Welsh, I have little money. To the right, a little way up the slope I see a small cottage. There is no other building in sight so I decide this is my only hope of avoiding a night beneath the stars which in Wales even in August, could be very cold.

I knock on the door and a man with a beard, dressed in a coarse woollen tunic opens the door. I explain my plight in slow, deliberate English. I make a sleeping motion to the man. He nods says something in Welsh and beckons to me to come in.

It is dark inside the cottage. A single candle burns, there is a fire in the grate and a cooking pot dangling over it. I am invited to sit at a rough hewn table. A bowl of something that might be porridge is placed in front of me and a wooden cup of something foaming that smelled sweet. And was probably a kind of ale.

I was hungry and ate with relish. When I had finished a young woman entered. She had long red hair, and a woollen tunic dyed blue unlike the plain one of the man I assumed must be her husband even though he seemed to be a bit older than her. I had begun to wonder about the sleeping arrangements and had concluded t hat we would probably all be sleeping together. I was tired and hoping she had come to show me where I would be sleeping.

As I sat there she pulled the tunic over her head and threw it aside. She stood naked before me, and all I could focus on were here small tight breasts and her thick bush. She came up to me and looked in puzzlement at my modern clothing. From her gestures I understood that I was to undress. The bearded man watched, apparently unconcerned that his wife was naked in front of a stranger.

I took my trousers off and pulled down my boxers. She came up and masturbated me with a deft skill I had rarely known in the 21st century. Then she climbed onto the chair and knelt astride me before descending onto my stiff cock with its glistening bell end. I came at once, the dirty interior of the cottage splintering into a kaleidoscope of colour as the orgasm pulsed through me.

I sat back as she climbed off me. I could have stayed in 1157 for her but she was another man’s wife.  I knew I had to get back, wanted to get back but maybe not just yet?  There were surely adventures still to be had.

Note:  According to Giraldus Cambrensis , the hospitality extended to house guests in early mediaeval Wales often extended to sex with the hosts.

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