Don't fuck with the Ancestors
A friend's grandmother had moved to Manitoba years ago - he didn't see her often, so when he did, usually stayed there for quite some time. In the long period of inactivity following the sixth form, I was invited to go with him - and gladly accepted.

The first couple of weeks were uneventful- although his Gran was a decent old stick, I was beginning to regret committing my entire summer to keeping her company. But then I met Amitola, and she changed everything. Her name meant 'Rainbow' in her Native American language and she was, to me, far more beautiful than her namesake could ever hope to be.

Amitola lived on a reservation - modestly sized, around two thousand people, on the banks of Lake Superior. She loved her family and her people fiercely, but hated their heritage and customs; barely a day passed without a rant on the subject of modernisation, and the stupidity of allowing superstition to impede the development of the tribe and its land.

A particular bugbear of hers was the holy ground within the reserve; set a little way from the inhabited areas, it was little more than a circle of rocks, littered with assorted bones, feathers, and other religious/traditional paraphernalia. It was apparently sacred to the Ancestors - a claim which met with Amitola's derision, on the grounds that the tribe had only been relocated to that area during the mid nineteenth century.

As our relationship developed, things got... More physical. And slightly weird. Not only did Amitola have no respect for her people's traditions, at times she seemed to delight in defiling them. This came to a head on dark night in August, a couple of weeks before I was due to return home; she suggested - insisted - that we visit the holy ground together, for purposes that had little to do with worship.

The night had started warm, but by the time we reached the holy ground, it had cooled significantly. Amitola switched off our torches, and lit some candles - and then, she disrobed. One thing led to another, and before long, we were going at it hammer-and-tongs, all caution - all respect for the site - completely forgotten.

I didn't notice when the wind started to rise, but one by one, the candles were snuffed from existence. As the darkness grew, Amitola seemed to grow ever more confident, more demanding; the act of desecration was clearly doing something for her, and she wanted to see how far it could be pushed. Simple sex was abandoned as she began to explore her perversions; a gentleman never tells all, but watersports were mentioned. I took my turn as the wind rose still higher - and I was suddenly aware of how dark, cold, and foreboding the night had become. I couldn't see for more than a few feet, and all I could see was religious in nature - items left for the same Ancestors who now seemed to be screaming their hatred of my acts upon the wind itself.

Then it was her turn. The fierce wind grew to a howl as she straddled me, whipping discarded feathers into a twisting dance of fury, and a dark cloud scudded across the thin crescent of the moon. As we were plunged into near-complete darkness, I heard/felt a low, discordant moan - and it happened; crying out her scorn for the ancestors, she unleashed a jet of hot piss straight towards me. It was Cree pee.

Good shag though.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 21:49, 3 replies)

To get this out of the way - yes, pun posts are shit. Yes, this one is a particularly odious offender, and overlong to boot. Yes, broadsword has made essentially the same joke below, in far fewer words, but I'd already typed it up. And no, I'm not sorry - let the shoeing commence.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 21:50, closed)

bless

(wimbley is feeling hungover, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 21:52, closed)

Pun posts are great
but not on the first day... please?
(ChaRleyTroniC is invincible with his chips and cheese, Thu 7 Apr 2011, 21:54, closed)