Kelpie

Moonlight rippled across the surface of the loch as leaves rustled in the trees. Small critters scurried around the forest, eager to fill their bellies after the snow retreated. The serenity of early spring filled the air.

Malcolm stumbled along the edge of the loch, trying to get home. It had been a long and brutal winter, leaving the couple mile journey down the loch to visit friends impossible. Being the first opportunity in months, he’d eagerly ran down the snow free trail to the larger village and drank his fill while surrounded by the friends he missed.

He moved along much slower than he had earlier that afternoon. Malcolm knew he’d over drank, again, but it was a celebration! And celebrations were just the excuse to enjoy life and celebrate surviving another winter.

It had been a good night, everyone in high spirits, but there was one thing he was missing. Malcolm was hoping for a good fuck. His attraction to men was a luxury he rarely got to enjoy. Almost none understood that it was a sin he neither wanted nor could fully control. His encounters were rare, often nothing more than a traveler wanting to ease his lust with an eager hole.

In his drunken haze, he detected movement on the other side of the loch. Looking over at the source, it appeared to be a large horse, completely black, walking along the shore. Malcolm’s first guess was that some rich noble lost it while moving through the area. While he could move to investigate, Malcolm was rational enough to know that it would be a poor decision. Five miles down to the end and 5 back, or trying to swim across and likely drowning in the endless depth. No, Malcolm would let this oddity pass as he worked towards his own bed.

The road made one of it’s many twists into the treelined, and Malcolm followed it. The warm buzz that filled his body showed no signs of stopping as his shoulders began to sway back and forth with each step. Occasionally, a rock in the road would catch his foot and he would nearly tumble over. He was still quick enough on his feet to remain standing, but the alcohol was taking its toll.

After a short 200 yards, the road inevitably turned back towards the loch. The light of the moon illuminated his surroundings and drove away the darkness. Just down the road, before the next bend, Malcolm could have sworn that he saw a man laying on the rocks. Being the direction of home, he moved closer.

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Shirime

Puddles reflected moonlight through the scattered clouds. Returning skyward, it reflected off the bamboo leaves rustling in the wind. Travel was regular on this road connecting Kyoto to Nagoya, at least for those who possessed the proper paperwork.

Ito did not possess the needed authorization for this type of cross daimyo travel, but he didn’t need it. He lived in a nearby village as a respectful man. By day he’d cut bamboo and take care of the forest. In the evenings he cared for his wife and children. By all accounts, he was the strong, hardworking, family man everyone idealized; at least on the surface.

On a warm night after the rain drove the bugs into hiding, such as tonight, an itch would form. A deep desire would take hold that demanded satiation. A need that could only be filled with a nighttime stroll on the road through his forest.

Ito gently rounded a turn as he lazily walked to his usual turnaround. A couple hundred yards away, he spotted a figure traveling in the opposite direction. In the dim light, Ito grasped a rough understanding of who he might be.

His clothes were nice and well maintained but dirty from days of travel. On his back rested an awkwardly square pack that rested heavy on his shoulders. Traveling by night, he was clearly on a rather tight timetable. In total, Ito guessed that he was a young merchant.

The two moved closer as neither acknowledged the other’s presence. Only a dozen yards apart, Ito began his ritual.

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